ALEXIA 


A  L  E  X  I  A 


MARY , ABBOTT 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.  McCLURG  AND   COMPANY 
1889 


COPYRIGHT, 
BY  A.  C.  MCCLURG  AND  Co. 

A.D.    l88o. 


PREAMBLE. 


I  COULD  not  fill  one  page  with  the  ro- 
mance of  my  own  life,  to  save  that  prosy 
existence  ;  it  is  as  empty  of  any  such  claim 
upon  public  attention  as  a  stubble-field  is 
barren  of  wheat.  One  reason  for  this  may 
be  that  I  have  another  self, —  a  friend, — 
whose  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears, 
have  been  more  than  mine,  and  have  left 
me  no  time  for  private  ventures  of  my  own 
in  those  lines.  For  this  man  required 
more  looking  after  than  a  child,  and  was 
not  half  so  tractable.  He  used  to  remind 
me  —  great,  handsome,  impossible  fellow 
that  he  was  —  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
splendid,  full-rigged,  A  I  clipper  ship,  lack- 
ing a  course  and  a  captain.  When  such  a 
craft  slips  her  cable,  and  takes  to  the  high 
seas,  somebody  must  steer.  I  used  to  act 


vi  Preamble. 

as  sailing-master  sometimes,  when  I  saw 
the  vessel  making  straight  for  big  rocks 
or  sunken  reefs  ;  and  although  I  did  not 
always  see  the  danger  in  time  to  prevent 
the  ship  from  being  badly  strained,  actual 
wreck  was  averted  while  I  had  the  helm. 

Certain  chapters  in  this  man's  history 
have  not  been  without  their  pathos,  and 
cannot  fail,  as  I  guess  and  hope,  to  interest 
the  human,  —  those  who  sin  and  are  sorry, 
and  sin  and  are  sorry,  and  sin  and  are  sorry 
yet  again.  So,  as  I  know  that  he  would 
never  put  pen  to  paper,  to  jot  down  one 
word  himself,  I,  Felix  Farley,  the  awkward 
scribe,  attempt  the  task,  making  this  pre- 
face both  my  apology  and  plea. 


A  L  E  X  I  A. 


i. 


WHEN  Geoffrey  Trevor  was  thirty 
years  old,  he  committed  an  act 
—  a  crime  I  was  nearly  going  to  call  it  — 
of  which  I  could  not  have  suspected  him, 
and  for  which  I  never  forgave  him.  He 
became  engaged  to  be  married. 

If  he  had  fallen  in  love  first,  —  a  not  un- 
common preliminary,  —  nobody  would  have 
been  more  rejoiced  than  I,  for  in  that 
case  marriage  might  have  been  his  mak- 
ing. But  he  had  done  nothing  of  the 
kind  ;  I  knew  it,  and  he  knew  I  knew  it. 
There  was  no  pretence  of  love  about  the 
matter. 

If  you  ask  what  was  the  motive  for  this 
absurd  deed,  I  do  not  refer  you  to  his 
flimsy  reasons,  which  were  no  reasons  at 
all,  but  I  answer  simply,  I  don't  know. 


8  Alexia. 

My  experience,  I  may  say  here,  has  taught 
me,  that  for  rash,  unthinking  perform- 
ances of  this  description,  you  may  com- 
mend yourself,  as  a  rule,  to  gentlemen  who 
have  nothing  on  earth  to  do  but  to  plan 
them.  That  was  Geoffrey's  case  to  a  turn. 

There  are  men  whom  Fortune  has  bored 
to  the  verge  of  extinction  with  her  favors  ; 
and  Geoffrey  Trevor  was  one  of  these. 
Born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,  and 
half-a-dozen  fairy  godmothers,  he  had  been 
surfeited  with  sweets,  until  his  appetite 
had  first  palled,  then  perished,  by  what  it 
had  fed  on.  And  if  the  laying  down  of 
his  life  (I  quote  his  own  sentiment  now) 
had  not  involved  more  loathing,  in  antici- 
pation of  the  nuisance  it  would  have  en- 
tailed upon  others,  than  the  bearing  of  it 
already  did,  in  fulfilment,  to  himself,  he 
would  have  been,  not  glad  exactly,  for  pri- 
mary emotions  were  gone  for  him,  but 
willing  enough  to  shuffle  it  off,  and  have 
done  with  it.  Hardly  the  tone  of  a 
rapturous  wooer,  if  I  understand  such 
things. 

Helen  Courtice,  a  magnificent,  proud 
creature  in  Geoffrey's  set,  happened  to  be 


Alexia.  9 

the  girl  he  chose  thus  to  "  honor."  I  say 
happened,  for  there  would  have  been  equal 
fitness  in  the  selection  if  it  had  fallen 
upon  any  one  of  twenty  others,  all  of  the 
same  pattern,  with  whom  Geoffrey  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  spending  much  time 
before  his  latest  season  of  misanthropy 
had  set  in. 

I  was  fearfully  shocked  when  I  heard 
this  news  about  Geoffrey,  and  at  first  I  re- 
fused to  believe  it.  For  it  was  not  three 
days  since  Geoffrey  had  come  to  me  in  one 
of  his  blackest,  bitterest  moods.  He  said 
that  he  believed  his  blood  was  drying  up  in 
his  veins  ;  that  he  felt  no  sensations,  either 
of  pleasure  or  of  pain  ;  that  he  neither 
liked  nor  disliked  anything  nor  anybody  ; 
that  he  was  incapable  of  feeling  hungry  or 
thirsty,  hot  or  cold  ;  that  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  kind  of  instinctive  clinging  to  me 
and  tobacco  and  sleep  he  might  as  well 
be  a  mummy ;  and  that  if  he  had  had 
spirit  enough  to  wish  a  wish,  he  should 
wish  he  was  one.  And  with  these  jocund 
words,  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  my 
sofa,  in  a  favorite  attitude, — his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head,  eyes  shut,  and  an 


io  Alexia. 

expression  of  utter  weariness  upon  his  face. 
He  meant,  or  thought  he  meant,  every 
syllable  of  this  chant  of  woe.  He  was  get- 
ting into  the  worst  kind  of  way ;  and  this 
thing  must  be  stopped. 

"Now  come,  Geoff  Trevor,"  I  said  to 
him,  severely,  "  I  am  about  worn  out  with 
this  nonsense  ;  you  talk  like  a  fool,  and 
you  will  be  one  soon,  if  you  keep  on.  The 
matter  with  you  is  that  you  're  spoiled  by 
good  fortune ;  you  have  always  had  too 
much  time,  too  much  money,  too  much 
looks,  and  too  much  attention.  You  're 
moping  and  whining  now  because  the  last 
doll  is  stuffed  with  saw-dust,  I  suppose. 
What  is  it,  —  a  horse  you  've  bet  on,  or  a 
girl  you  're  deceived  in  ?  For  Heaven's 
sake,  write  a  book  ;  '  get  religion  ;'  fall  in 
love;  go  into  politics,  —  do  something  to 
get  yourself  out  of  this  slough,  or  upon  my 
word,  old  boy,  you  '11  be  found  dead  of 
nothing  but  the  dumps  ! " 

He  was  lying  motionless,  in  the  old  atti- 
tude, on  the  couch. 

I  went  on.  "  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart, 
you  were  as  poor  and  as  ugly  as  I  am ; 
you  'd  have  to  go  to  work,  then,  and  women 


Alexia.  n 

would  n't  trouble  you  any  more.  A  month 
of  severely-let-alone-ness  at  the  Club,  when 
you  're  languidly  looking  for  Mrs.  Van  Ux- 
em's  scented  summons  to  her  Metropolitan 
Arcadia,  would  make  you  open  those  blase 
orbs  a  little;  and  a  few  snubs  would  per- 
haps give  you  a  zest  for  your  next  invita- 
tion, if  you  ever  got  one.  As  it  is,  your 
table  is  piled  high  at  this  moment  with 
notes  of  urgency,  I  dare  swear ;  and  it 
bores  you  even  to  execrate  the  writers, 
while  you  concoct  civil  answers." 

I  said  all  this  with  what  I  meant  for  a 
stinging  sneer.  I  seldom  talk  so  much  at 
a  time,  and  stopped  to  take  breath,  —  for  I 
had  by  no  means  finished,  —  when  Geoffrey 
took  his  hat,  and  walked  toward  the  door, 
saying,  "  I  suppose  you  are  sick  of  my 
everlasting  moaning  ;  but  you  're  the  big- 
gest bore  I  have  to  contend  with  when  you 
talk  against  time." 

I  hoped  he  was  angry,  for  a  good  quarrel 
would  have  been  a  tonic  for  him  ;  but  he 
lounged  back,  and  threw  himself  into  a  big 
chair,  with  apathy  written  all  over  him.  I 
was  preparing  another  verbal  torpedo,  when 
he  spoke  again. 


12  Alexia. 

"  Politics  !  "  he  muttered,  "  politics  ! 
Did  n't  I  try  electioneering  one  year,  and 
did  n't  it  take  me  three  months  to  get  the 
dirt  off  my  hands,  and  six,  off  my  soul,  — 
if  it 's  ever  come  off,  which  I  'm  not  so  sure 
of  ?  If  there  is  a  clean  calling,  show  it  me, 
and  I  '11  begin  on  it  to-morrow.  I  don't 
know  one.  I  have  tried  writing,  as  you 
know,  and  failed.  I  tell  you,  Felix,  men- 
tally I  am  a  corpse." 

"  Well,  you  can't  learn  an  honest  trade 
then,  any  more  than  a  dishonest ;  and  the 
only  advice  I  can  give  you  is  to  come  and 
read  law  in  my  office  again,  and  make  up 
your  mind  to  stick  to  it."  He  had 
made  beginnings  before,  but  had  always 
gone  away,  or  something,  and  given  it 
up. 

Geoffrey  shook  his  head.  "It's  no  use," 
he  said,  "  to  try  to  do  anything  for  me,  old 
man,  but  I  won't  come  here  and  make  a 
nuisance  of  myself  again." 

Well,  we  talked  nearly  all  night,  but  I 
could  do  Geoff  no  good  ;  he  had  strange 
fancies  about  himself  and  his  moods,  and 
was  altogether  in  a  worse  condition  than  I 
had  supposed.  I  could  see  that  it  was  all 


f 


Alexia.  1 3 

owing  to  his  lack  of  training,  and  listless 
life,  and  that  he  had  no  real  mental  disease. 
He  was  sure  he  had  one  of  an  alarming 
kind. 

I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair  at  last,  and 
when  I  woke  up,  I  heard  the  wheels  of  his 
cab  driving  away. 

You  may  now  conceive  my  amazement 
at  hearing,  only  three  days  after  this  orgy, 
of  Geoffrey's  choice  of  an  "  honest  calling." 
He  sauntered  in  soon  to  tell  me  of  it,  or 
to  hear  what  I  had  to  say.  Of  course  he 
knew  I  had  heard. 

I  never  minced  matters  with  Geoffrey 
Trevor,  but  always  spoke  my  mind  out  flat' 
to  him  ;  and  that  was  one  reason,  I  think, 
for  his  liking  me.  "  They  all  lie  to  me  but 
you,  Felix,"  he  used  to  say;  "if  you  ever 
do  it,  my  last  hope  is  gone."  I  had  occa- 
sion afterward  to  wonder  if  he  was  always 
implicitly  truthful  to  me. 

Well,  Geoffrey  came  in  one  day,  soon 
after  the  announcement  of  his  strange  per- 
formance, trying  to  look  very  easy  and 
casual,  but  I  soon  bowled  him  out  of  that. 

"  You  're  not  engaged,  are  you,  Geoff?  " 
I  burst  forth  the  very  first  thing,  before  he 


14  Alexia. 

had  time  to  open  his  mouth,  thus  ridding 
him  of  all  embarrassment  in  beginning,  at 
least. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  he  said,  reddening,  "  and 
to  a  charming  girl  too.  Won't  you  wish 
me  joy,  my  boy,  eh  ? "  I  never  saw  such 
hang-dog  mirth  in  my  life ;  he  looked  like 
a  sheep-stealer. 

"  Sit  down  ! "  I  said,  in  a  voice  like  thun- 
der. "  Are  you  in  your  senses  ?  Don't 
you  know  that  after  all  you  have  told  me 
about  yourself,  you  are  committing  a  crime 
in  rushing  into  a  thing  like  this  pell-mell, 
even  if  it  were  decent  to  do  it  in  any  case  ? 
A  man  in  your  mental  state  —  if  what  you 
have  told  me  is  true  —  has  no  right  to  marry. 
Suppose  one  of  those  'numb'  fits  comes 
on,  such  as  you  have  told  me  about,  last- 
ing for  days,  during  which  time  you  have 
absolutely  not  one  particle  of  human  sym- 
pathy, nothing  but  disgust  for  your  kind, 
what 's  your  wife  going  to  do  then  ?  Are 
you  about  to  sacrifice  a  woman  to  your 
whims,  or  disorders,  or  whatever  they 
are  ?  " 

Geoffrey  was  white  and  angry.  He 
stopped  me.  "  I  have  told  you  always  to 


Alexia.  15 

speak  freely  to  me,  Felix,  but  even  you  can't 
insult  me.  Everything  I  have  told  you 
about  myself  is  true,  of  course ;  from  living 
like  an  imbecile,  I  have  grown  to  be  one. 
I  have  looked  after  my  own  comfort  so 
keenly  that  I  have  overshot  the  mark ;  but 
I  am  going  to  lead  another  life  altogether. 
My  mother  was  anxious  that  I  should  marry 
Helen  Courtice  ;  my  relations  all  wish  it 
now;  so  do  hers." 

I  was  glad  to  find  him  so  thoughtful  of 
his  relations  ;  he  usually  alluded  to  them 
as  "  brutes  !  " 

"  Helen  is  a  beautiful  woman  ;  she  has 
accomplishments,  is  sweet-tempered,  and 
likes  me.  The  noble  passion  we  neither  of 
us  affect,  to  any  extent ;  but  as  I  believe 
there  is  really  no  such  thing,  it  would  be 
only  a  pretence  if  we  did.  We  have  as 
great  a  liking  for  each  other  as  persons 
have  when  they  marry,  I  suppose.  As  for 
the  attacks  of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  and 
which  you  have  seen  fit  to  ridicule,  occu- 
pation will  be  a  cure  for  them  ;  and  you 
may  be  very  sure  that  no  woman  under 
my  protection  shall  suffer  from  my  neg- 
lect. I  shall  try  to  make  a  good  husband. 


1 6  Alcxia. 

As  I  have  never  seen  one,  it  will  be  a 
novelty  to  create  the  part." 

"  Geoff,"  I  shouted,  "  for  Heaven's  sake 
go  and  break  this  fearful  thing  off!  Tell 
her  you  have  made  a  mistake,  or  she  has  ; 
tell  her  anything  ;  but  don't  pile  guilt  on 
your  unhappiness.  Don't  make  a  hopeless 
fool  of  yourself ;  don't  wreck  two  lives  ! 
The  girl  will  get  over  it  now ;  but  never  if 
you  marry  her.  And  O  Geoff !  think  of 
your  misery  !  Come,  give  it  up  !  "  And 
I  seized  his  arm. 

He  gave  a  quick  little  laugh  of  impa- 
tience, and  shook  me  off  nervously.  "Very 
flattering  all  this,  to  the  lady,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  the  luckiest  man  about,  to  win  such  a 
prize  ;  everybody  says  so.  She  may  throw 
me  over  when  she  finds  what  a  dullard  I  am, 
but  I  have  ceased  to  have  any  right  to  act, 
even  if  I  wished  it  ;  and  of  course  I  don't." 

I  tried  him  at  other  points ;  but  he  had 
a  parry  for  every  thrust.  I  could  have 
roared  for  very  unhappiness.  As  for  bet- 
tering his  blues,  or  whatever  they  were,  he 
had  simply  jumped  from  the  frying-pan 
into  the  fire.  What  could  bore  you  more, 
if  you  come  to  that,  than  to  be  tied  to  a 


Alexia.  17 

woman  you  neither  love,  respect,  nor  ad- 
mire particularly,  only  like  "  as  much  as 
most  persons  like  when  they  marry  !  "  It 
was  horrible ! 

After  Geoffrey  Trevor's  and  Helen  Cour- 
tice's  engagement  had  been  discussed  to 
infinity,  and  dined  to  death,  and  buried  in 
flowers,  and  everything  had  quieted  down, 
and  Geoffrey  was  behaving  beautifully,  the 
young  woman  made  the  worst  move  she 
could  possibly  have  acquitted  herself  of,  un- 
der the  circumstances, — she  went  abroad. 
They  had  been  engaged  then  about  three 
months,  and  there  really  seemed  to  be  a 
prospect  of  their  being  happy,  after  a  fash- 
ion, in  time.  Helen  flirted  still,  and  always 
would  do  that ;  but  Geoffrey  never  minded  a 
bit,  and  could  have  had  the  same  privilege 
himself,  I  dare  say.  He  was  devoted  to 
her,  and  for  a  restless  woman  of  fashion, 
she  seemed  contented.  Geoffrey  drove  with 
her,  rode  with  her,  walked  with  her,  dined 
and  "balled"  where  she  would,  without 
flinching.  He  spoke  of  her  to  me  in  affec- 
tionate enough  terms,  and  seemed  proud 
of  her  beauty.  It  was  generally  conceded 
that  he  was  a  pattern  lover  ;  and  he  seemed 


1 8  Alcxia. 

to  be  growing  cheerful,  and  quite  like  other 
men,  when  that  little  fool  started  up  a  Eu- 
ropean trip  ! 

"  It 's  ages  since  I  was  in  Paris,"  she  said  ; 
"  why  can't  we  go  over  and  spend  May  and 
June  there,  and  go  to  Homburg  for  July 
and  August  ?  Mamma  would  like  nothing 
better ;  my  cousins  the  Lorimer  men  will 
go  ;  the  Leonards  are  already  there ;  you 
will  like  it,  Geoffrey,  of  course  ;  and — " 

Geoffrey  shook  his  head. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  won't  go,  Geof- 
frey Trevor?  May  I  be  allowed  to  ask  why, 
when  you  know  very  well  you  haven't  an 
earthly  thing  to  keep  you  here  ?  Oh,  that 
stupid  old  house  !  That  can  wait,  I  'm  sure. 
Do  you  really  mean  you  wont  go,  Geof- 
frey ?  "  And  Helen  looked  black  and  cross. 

Now  Geoffrey  was,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  employed  upon  something  which 
absorbed  him.  He  was  building  a  house 
for  Helen,  and  was  putting  his  whole 
heart  into  the  work.  I  could  have  killed 
that  girl  for  not  seeing  —  or  for  not  caring, 
rather  —  how  important  this  occupation 
was  to  Geoffrey,  and  how  much  good  it 
was  doing:  him.  But  she  had  never  under- 


Alexia.  19 

stood,  nor  tried  to  understand,  one  thing 
about  Geoffrey.  She  took  all  his  devotion 
for  granted,  and  gave  him  nothing,  or 
very  little,  in  return.  As  for  her,  there 
was  nothing  to  understand  about  her  ex- 
cept her  selfishness  and  her  worldly  am- 
bition. Yes,  and  her  obstinacy,  —  I  forgot 
that,  —  for  Helen  was  like  a  mule  when 
she  had  set  her  head  —  she  had  no  heart 
—  upon  doing  a  thing.  "  You  know  how 
dull  the  summers  are  here,  Geoffrey  dear," 
she  said,  plying  another  weapon,  "  even  at 
Newport.  I  'm  sure  I  hate  it,  with  the 
same  everlasting  women  scanning  one's 
gowns  !  And  of  course  this  year,  just  be- 
fore I  get  my  trousseau  "  (here  she  slid  her 
hand  into  Geoffrey's  and  managed  to  blush 
a  little),  "  I  sha'n't  have  any  new  ones." 

"  Then  they  won't  scan  you,"  answered 
Geoffrey.  "  If  it 's  a  question  of  gowns,  you 
shall  have  a  thousand,  if  you  will  stay  at 
home  and  be  married,  like  a  good  girl, 
and  won't  go  away  and  leave  me."  I  think 
he  was  positively  afraid  to  let  her  go.  "  This 
is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  tried  to  do  a 
piece  of  real  work,  Helen,"  he  said  to  her, 
earnestly,  "  and  I  must  not  leave  it,  es- 


2O  Alexia. 

pecially  in  this  state.     I  beg  you  will  see 
the  thing  sensibly." 

Whether  Helen  saw  it  sensibly  or  in- 
sensibly, she  went.  Geoffrey,  firm  in  his 
refusal,  saw  them  all  off,  —  a  jolly,  careless 
lot,  —  and  came  to  my  rooms  that  night, 
thoroughly  discouraged,  and  about  as  bad 
as  ever. 


Alexia.  21 


II. 


T  FOUND  there  was  a  feeling  —  if  a 
•*•  fashionable  set  can  be  said  to  have 
feeling,  a  kind  of  ripple,  at  any  rate  — 
of  disapproval  of  Helen  Courtice's  con- 
duct, in  leaving  Geoffrey  at  this  juncture 
and  going  away  for  the  summer. 

It  was  not  so  much  disapproval,  either, 
—  nothing  so  moral,  —  as  a  sense  that  she 
had  done  a  foolish  thing  for  herself. 
Geoffrey  Trevor  was  known  to  be  a  pe- 
culiar man,  —  although  no  mortal  but  me 
knew  how  peculiar,  — and  it  would  not  be 
easy  for  any  woman  to  hold  his  affection, 
except  at  the  short  end  of  the  lever.  She 
was  very  silly  to  leave  him  behind,  her 
friends  said,  even  if  she  did  want  to  flirt 
with  Max  Lorimer  all  summer,  —  how  silly 
they  all  one  day  would  find  out ! 

I  was  lunching  with  Geoffrey  at  the  Club, 
about  a  fortnight  after  Miss  Courtice  had 
sailed  away,  when  Geoff's  cousin  Murray 


22  Alexia. 

Trevor,  the  only  relation  he  knew  much 
of,  came  up  to  us.  He  was  looking  for 
Geoff,  he  said  ;  one  or  two  men  had  told 
him  that  Geoff  was  getting  hipped  and 
sour.  "  I  want  you  to  go  down  to  Quartz 
with  me  to-night,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  No 
noes  taken  and  no  questions  asked." 
Quartz  Point  was  a  small  peninsula,  well 
known  to  yachtsmen,  but  sparsely  inhab- 
ited, where  Murray  had  a  house.  "Laura 
has  ordered  me  to  bring  you,  and  if  I  ap- 
peared without  you,  I  should  n't  be  let  in. 
So  meet  me  at  the  station,  at  five  o'clock 
sharp  ;  if  I  don't  find  you,  I  shall  miss  the 
train,  and  come  up  after  you."  Geoffrey 
laughed,  and  said  he  should  n't  be  there. 
I  persuaded  him  to  go,  however,  and  he 
went. 

The  day  after  Geoffrey  had  gone  down 
to  Quartz  Point  with  his  cousin,  I  met  him 
coming  from  the  train.  He  said  he  was 
going  down  again  that  night,  and  he  drew 
a  very  attractive  picture  of  the  rough 
beauty  of  the  place,  — all  rocks  and  shin- 
gle and  surf  on  one  side,  the  sea  side,  he 
said  (I  had  never  been  there)  and  on  the 
other  the  old  fishing  town  of  Quartz 


Alexia.  23 

Head,  with  its  irregular  outline,  stretching 
the  length  of  a  bold  bluff,  and  overlooking 
the  basin,  or  harbor,  which  lay  between  the 
Point  and  itself.  The  sunset  over  and 
behind  the  old  town  was  marvellous  ;  and 
there  was  a  perfectly  lovely  young  girl, 
granddaughter  of  Murray's  old  fisherman, 
who  rowed  them  over  the  harbor  the  night 
before,  and  back  this  morning,  when  they 
went  to  take  the  train  at  Quartz  Head.  I 
should  have  guyed  him  about  the  girl,  it  was 
so  uncommon  a  thing  for  him  to  notice  one 
in  that  condition  of  life,  but  any  earthly 
object  which  could  rouse  interest,  to  say 
nothing  of  enthusiasm,  in  Geoffrey,  was  a 
godsend,  and  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  discouraged  him  ! 

I  did  not  see  Geoffrey  very  often  at  this 
period  ;  but  when  I  did,  he  was  always 
just  "running  down  to  Quartz,"  or  just 
"running  up  from  Quartz."  He  stayed 
down  three  or  four  days  at  a  time,  often, 
and  once  he  stayed  a  week,  I  believe. 

I  noticed  the  most  wonderful  improve- 
ment, or  series  of  improvements,  in  Geof- 
frey, whenever  I  saw  him.  He  looked  the 
image  of  health  ;  his  eyes  were  eager  and 


24  Alexia. 

animated  ;  and  he  walked  off  like  a  boy. 
I  had  never  seen  him  so  in  my  life  before ; 
and  I  began  to  be  curious  to  visit  a  place 
which  could  work  such  miracles. 

He  was  wild  about  Quartz  Point ;  it 
was  all  kinds  of  beauty  combined,  he  told 
me ;  that  is  to  say,  not  the  Point  itself 
wholly,  but  taking  in  all  its  surroundings. 
The  most  charming  spot  he  had  ever 
seen. 

Now  Quartz  Point  was  by  no  means  an 
unknown  region,  although  I,  who  stick  to 
my  books,  and  who  seldom  sail,  had  never 
happened  to  see  it.  It  was  hardly  twenty 
miles  from  town,  and  was  well  known,  as  I 
have  said,  to  yachtsmen,  possessing,  as  it 
did,  a  safe  little  harbor  with  neither  bar 
nor  tide-way,  —  so  much  frequented  by 
them,  in  fact,  as  to  have  a  yacht  club- 
house upon  it.  Geoffrey  must  have  been 
there  a  hundred  times,  before  this  year. 
"Why  is  Quartz  Point  so  surprisingly  new 
to  you  ?  "  I  asked  him  ;  "  it  's  not  possible 
these  are  your  first  visits  there?"  Oh,  he 
said,  he  had  been  there  sailing,  of  course, 
and  had  anchored  in  the  harbor,  and  had 
dined  at  the  Club  ;  but  he  had  never  stayed 


Alexia.  25 

with  Murray  before,  nor  seen  the  place  to 
any  advantage.  "  Murray  is  quite  lord  of 
the  land,  and  the  townspeople  worship  him. 
They  are  most  interesting  studies,  those 
rough  old  fishermen,  Felix.  The  sailing  is 
perfection  ;  I  have  n't  seen  a  fog  yet,  con- 
trary to  tradition.  [Well,  he  would,  if  he 
waited  long  enough.]  And  as  for  the  sun- 
sets, Italy  never  produced  a  patch  upon 
them." 

Geoffrey  Trevor  an  enthusiast !  I  should 
expect  the  sunset  to  fall  on  him  next ! 

We  had  few  and  short  opportunities  for 
conversation  in  those  days  ;  but  by  and 
by  I  got  nearer  the  gist  of  it.  "  What  do 
you  think  I  have  been  doing  this  morn- 
ing ? "  he  asked  me  once,  coming  into  my 
office. 

"  Oh,  tell,"  I  said  ;  for  I  hate  guessing. 

"  Buying  a  dress"  he  answered. 

"  For  Mrs.  Trevor  ?  "  Murray's  wife,  I 
meant. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then  ?  " 

"  For  a  little  girl." 

"  How  big  a  little  girl  ? "  I  was  getting 
suspicious. 


26  Alexia. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen, perhaps." 

"Ah,  indeed.  And  how  do  you  happen 
to  be  selecting  young  ladies'  wardrobes  ? 
Rather  new  business  for  you,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"  It  is  n't  a  young  lady  —  I  mean  she 's 
not  grown-up,  exactly ;  she 's  the  grand- 
daughter of  Murray's  fisherman  and  facto- 
tum, old  Iron.  [Hm  !  the  perfectly  lovely 
young  girl  who  had  rowed  him  over  the 
first  night  he  had  gone  down  !]  Such  a 
character  he  is  too,  Felix !  I  wish  you 
could  hear  some  of  his  speeches.  Laura 
has  them  by  heart.  What  do  you  suppose 
he  said  to  her  the  other  day  ?  '  Mrs.  Tree- 
vor,'  he  said,  rolling  his  tongue  out,  and 
drawing  it  in  again,  and  smacking  his  lips, 
-  all  this  between  every  two  sentences,  — 
'  my  wife  hes  hed  the  eye-complaint,  an' 
now  she 's  got  the  spinal  disease ;  an', 
Mrs.  Tree-vor,  ef  you  was  to  set  two  boat- 
loads of  gold  before  that  woman,  she  could 
not  unbutton  her  shoes  ! ' ' 

I  laughed  very  much  at  this  ;  partly  be- 
cause it  amused  me,  partly  to  encourage 
Geoff,  and  mostly  for  joy  at  seeing  the 
change  in  him. 


Alexia.  27 

But  the  little  girl  of  seventeen  and  the 
dress,  I  wanted  to  hear  more  about  them. 
So  I  asked  Geoffrey  if  the  infant  he  had 
bought  the  dress  for  was  as  amusing  as 
her  grandfather. 

"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed  hastily,  and  a  look 
I  did  n't  know  came  into  his  face,  "  she  's 
of  another  race  altogether  ;  a  being  from 
another  world  ;  an  Undine  with  her  soul,  — 
in  one  way  an  enigma  ;  in  a  second,  a  per- 
fectly transparent,  simple  creature." 

I  had  seen  artless  country  girls  before, 
and  knew  what  they  were  like.  I  could  n't 
help  smiling  in  my  sleeve  at  this  cynic, 
caught  by  cunning. 

"She  was  sent  to  her  grandfather  by  his 
son,  a  miserable,  sneaking  scamp,  who  had 
disappeared  before  that,  for  years,  —  the 
only  kind  thing  he  had  ever  done  for  his 
father." 

"  Except  sending  Undine,"  I  broke  in. 

The  autocrat  frowned.  "  Do  you  want 
me  to  go  on,  or  not  ? " 

"  Why,  I  want  you  to  go  on,  of  course, 
'  Mimosa/ "  I  retorted.  "  I  am  deeply 
thrilled." 

And  I  was.     I  was  glad  to  see  that  he 


28  Alcxia. 

was  coming  round  to  be  like  other  men, 
and  was  making  an  ass  of  himself.  A 
silly  little  giggling  country  wench  might 
well  bear  a  bruise  or  two  for  this. 

"Well,  this  wretch,"  Geoffrey  went  on, 
watching  me  rather  sharply  to  see  that  I 
did  n't  chaff  him  again,  "  was  sentenced  to 
prison  for  thieving,  or  something,  about 
ten  years  ago,  and  sent  the  child  to  the 
grandfather,  who  was  so  poor  then  he  was 
almost  supported  by  the  town.  The 
mother  was  unable  to  keep  her,  I  suppose, 
or  dead,  or  sentenced  to  jail  too,  perhaps. 
I  don't  know.  Old  Iron  had  never  heard 
that  his  son  was  married  even,  until  this 
child  came  to  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  n't,"  I  remarked  dryly. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Geoff  sighed.  "The 
poor  girl's  pedigree  is  of  the  darkest,  I 
judge.  The  father  has  probably  died,  for 
he  has  never  turned  up." 

"  The  girl  is  beautiful,  you  say  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  only  marvellously  lovely  in 
face,  but  in  character.  She  has  quick  in- 
telligence, acute  sensibilities,  wit,  and  a 
sweet  nature.  She  is  merry  at  times  with- 
out being  noisy,  sad  at  others  without 


Alcxia.  29 

being  solemn.  As  for  her  beauty,  I  never 
saw  such  eyes,  to  begin  with,  —  eyes  so 
full  of  soul  and  sympathy  and  earnestness, 
to  say  nothing  of  their  actual  splendor ! 
She  has  the  voice  of  an  Englishwoman, 
and  a  smile  like  the  sunrise.  I  am  abso- 
lutely not  exaggerating,  Felix,  and  you 
know  how  fastidious  I  am." 

Fastidious !  I  should  say  he  was !  A 
voice  pitched  a  quarter  of  a  semitone  too 
high  would  disgust  him  with  a  woman,  or 
the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  gleam  of  imper- 
fection in  manner.  But  of  course  he  was 
not  comparing  this  rowing-girl  with  town- 
bred  ladies,  only  speaking  of  her  as  a  type 
apart.  Yet  listen  to  him  now  ! 

"  I  used  to  think  it  was  with  women  as 
with  music  and  drawing,  and  all  those 
things.  Every  year  there  are  better 
methods,  and  performers  have  to  keep  up 
with  the  times  or  drop  out.  They  have  to 
compete  with  the  best  talent  going.  A 
woman  who  does  n't  look  after  her  looks, 
so  to  speak,  constantly,  has  no  show  with 
the  others.  So,  naturally,  you  don't  expect 
to  find  your  own  sort  of  beauty  —  the 
beauty  which  alone  satisfies  you,  I  mean  — 


30  Alexia. 

out  of  your  own  sphere.  But  here  comes 
a  girl  who  has  none  of  the  adjuncts  we 
think  indispensable ;  out  in  the  sun  and 
wind  all  day  long  ;  wears  an  old  flannel 
gown  of  no  color  at  all,  just  sewed  together 
by  a  country  dressmaker,  I  should  think  ; 
still  the  most  beautiful  girl,  out  and  out, 
I  ever  saw.  By  Jove,  Felix,  I  can't  find 
a  flaw  in  her  ! " 

"  She  must  be  amazing,  then !  I  wish  I 
could  see  her.  Is  that  her  grandfather's 
real  name  —  no,  it  can't  be  !  Iron  f  It 's 
too  absurd  ! " 

"I  don't  know  —  no  —  yes  —  I  believe 
so.  I  don't  talk  to  her  much  about  her  de- 
scent, naturally;  but  somebody — Murray, 
I  dare  say  —  told  me  the  grandfather  was 
of  foreign  stock,  —  Portuguese,  I  think,  — 
and  his  own  name  in  that  language  meant 
iron  ;  so  they  called  him  by  it,  as  a  joke 
first,  and  then  it  gradually  grew  to  be  his 
name.  Solomon  Iron,  his  name  is,"  he 
continued;  "awful,  isn't  it?" 

"  Monstrous.  What 's  the  name  of  the 
girl  ?  " 

"  Alice  ;  but  the  Sisters  have  given  her 
the  name  of  Alexia.  It's  the  Greek  for 


Alexia.  31 

Alice,  and  suits  her  wonderfully.  I  call 
her  by  it." 

"  Then  she  is  not  an  only  child  ? " 

"  Yes,  she  is  ;  I  said  so,  did  n't  I  ?  They 
would  n't  be  apt  to  ship  a  numerous 
family,  one  by  one,  in  that  mysterious 
way." 

"  But  you  just  said  her  sisters  called  her 
Alexia." 

"  No,  no,  stupid  ;  tJte  Sisters  —  of  charity, 
or  mercy,  or  whatever  they  are  ;  both,  in 
this  case,  I  should  think.  There  are  two  of 
them, —  a  kind  of  offshoot  of  some  English 
city  sisterhood,  doing  mission  work  in  the 
town  of  Quartz  Head.  And  they  have 
taught  this  girl  for  years." 

"Oh!"  I  began  to  see.  "She's  a 
Catholic,  of  course  ?  " 

"A  Catholic,  but  not  a  Roman  Catho- 
lic !  [This  with  mock  dignity.]  These 
are  sisters  of  the  Anglican  Church,  —  tJtc 
true  church  ;  what  you  in  your  igno- 
rance call  the  Episcopal,  my  boy.  It 's 
the  High  Church  movement,  you  know, — 
priests  and  vestments  and  Eucharistic 
lights  and  confession,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it." 


32  Alexia. 

"And  have  you  gone  to  this  church,  or 
chapel,  or  whatever  it  is?" 

"  I  ?  Oh  yes,  I  go  often.  It 's  so 
pretty  and  solemn  and  interesting  [O 
Geoff!  what  a  combination  !],  and  I  sing  a 
little,  to  help  them  out,  as  they  're  not  rich 
enough  to  have  a  choir.  Yes,  I  go  ;  I  'm 
rather  regular." 

He  never  put  his  nose  inside  a  church 
at  home. 

"  Oh,  you  are  ?  You  and  '  Alexia '  sing 
out  of  the  same  hymn-book,  I  suppose?" 

"  Oh,  keep  still,  Felix,"  he  retorted  ; 
"  what  a  fool  I  am  to  tell  you  anything 
about  the  girl !  I  shall  never  hear  the  last 
of  it !  " 

But  /  did  ;  for  he  would  n't  open  his 
lips  on  the  subject  again  ! 


Alexia.  33 


III. 

IT  was  my  fate,  it  seemed,  always  to 
be  worrying  about  Geoffrey  Trevor. 
Those  few  weeks  I  had  been  easier,  see- 
ing him  so  improved ;  and  now  that  I 
knew  the  cause  of  the  change,  I  was  more 
bothered  than  ever !  He  was  interested, 
through  and  through,  in  this  young  girl, 
whose  beauty  had  been  only  the  pioneer, 
I  knew,  in  attracting  him  ;  for  Geoffrey 
was  no  slave  to  looks,  with  nothing  behind 
them.  He  was  interested,  now  that  he 
found  himself,  as  he  believed,  a  help  and 
benefit  to  a  human  being ;  it  was  the 
work  he  had  always,  unknown  to  Geoffrey 
Trevor,  been  wanting.  Here  it  was  at  his 
hand,  and  he  was  happy.  A  dangerous 
edged-tool  kind  of  happiness  for  the  girl, 
that  was  all. 

Yes,  this  Undine  with  her  soul,   what 
of  her  ?     Was  anybody  looking  after  her  ? 
It  was  evident  I  had  been  mistaken  in  my 
3 


34  Alexia. 

estimate  of  her  :  she  was  no  ogling,  rustic 
lass,  with  her  clumsy  wiles, —  I  might  have 
known  no  such  could  have  held  Geoffrey's 
attention  for  a  minute,  —  but  she  was 
mistress  of  no  practised  arts,  that  was 
plain  ;  and  the  disadvantage,  in  this  un- 
equal contest,  was  all  hers.  For  Geoffrey, 
though  in  no  sense  a  deceiver,  except  of 
himself,  had  not  been  a  keen  observer  of 
the  world's  tierce  and  carte,  without  learn- 
ing a  few  passes.  We  do  some  things 
unconsciously. 

Of  course  I  foresaw  the  inevitable,  if 
indeed  I  were  not  looking  back  upon  it  ; 
for  the  more  I  thought  it  over,  the  more 
I  felt  convinced  that  the  inevitable  had 
come  to  pass  already.  Undine  would  be, 
at  any  rate,  if  she  were  not  then,  in  love 
with  her  Huldbrand  !  I  have  not  described 
Geoffrey  ;  he  was  a  tall  fellow,  handsome 
and  manly.  And  although  I  have  repre- 
sented him  largely  in  his  sulks,  I  was  the 
only  person  to  whom  he  showed  this 
gloomy  side  ;  to  the  world  he  was  a  singu- 
larly attractive,  more,  a  fascinating  man. 
He  had  a  fetching,  tender,  intense  way 
with  women, —  put  on,  I  used  to  tell  him  ; 


Alexia.  35 

but  when  he  cordially  admired,  as  he  did 
this  poor  waif,  it  would  be  natural.  How 
could  she  withstand  him,  even  his  looks, 
his  manner  ?  I  can't  describe  Geoffrey's 
features  ;  I  don't  even  know  the  color  of 
his  eyes,  but  I  do  know  that  they  were 
declared  to  be  dangerously  effective  organs 
of  vision.  And  I  have  heard  women  use 
the  same  extravagant  terms  in  speaking 
of  his  appearance  which  he  had  employed 
in  depicting  that  of  his  wonderful  new- 
found beauty  at  Quartz  Head,  —  at  least, 
such  of  them  as  might  be  applicable  to 
manly  charms,  or  adapted  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  make  them  so. 

There  was  sharp  suffering  ahead  for 
Geoffrey,  who  was  always  a  fierce  penitent 
when  the  mischief  was  done.  Nobody 
ever  slammed  the  barn-door  as  hard  as  he 
after  the  horse  was  stolen,  or  ran  so  hotly 
in  pursuit  of  the  abducted  steed  when  he 
was  convinced  it  had  actually  gone.  When 
he  found  out  that  he  had  this  innocent 
young  thing's  heart  concealed  about  his 
person,  his  old  misery,  which  after  all  was 
general  and  impersonal,  would  seem  like 
happiness,  compared  to  the  new.  When 


36  Alexia. 

he  realized  —  as  he  would  be  the  very  last 
to  do —  that  he  had  led  this  girl  on,  —  and 
from  his  own  tale,  he  was  doing  this  at 
a  hand-gallop,  —  what  pangs  would  not  be 
his  forever  more  ! 

What  would  Geoffrey  do,  when  he  found 
out  what  he  had  done  ?  He  would  marry 
the  girl  in  a  minute,  if  he  could, — for 
Geoffrey  was  noble  in  expiation,  —  but  he 
could  n't,  because  he  was  as  good,  or  as 
bad,  as  married  already  ;  and  he  would 
be  quite  as  conscientious  about  his  duty  to 
Helen  as  he  had  been  reckless  in  rushing 
into  it,  —  more  so,  if  anything  ;  for  he  had 
never  loved  Helen,  and  owed  her  reparation 
for  that,  to  begin  with. 

What  a  miserable  muddle  it  was !  My 
head  ached  worrying  over  it,  and  wonder- 
ing what  in  fury  was  to  be  done. 

I  was  in  for  it,  that  was  a  foregone 
conclusion  !  I  never  was  in  a  scrape  of 
my  own  in  my  life  ;  I  have  n't  the  "go," 
or  whatever  is  necessary,  to  get  into  them ; 
but  hang  me  if  I  had  ever  been  out  of 
Geoffrey's  !  I  was  profane  at  this  epoch  ; 
nothing  but  strong  language  kept  me  up. 
Some  men  (they  say),  take  to  strong 


Alexia.  37 

drink  when  they  are  bothered  ;  I  always 
content  myself  with  "big,  big  D.'s"  of 
another  description.  The  effects  are  more 
transient,  and  they  do  not,  as  a  rule,  bear 
witness  against  themselves. 

I  carefully  arranged  to  run  against  Mur- 
ray Trevor,  —  quite  by  accident,  of  course, 
—  and  I  congratulated  him  upon  the  change 
in  Geoffrey. 

"He  does  look  better,  doesn't  he?"  he 
said,  with  a  quick  smile.  Murray's  smile, 
I  found,  was  quicker  than  his  perception. 
"  He  's  as  happy  as  a  king  down  at  Quartz, 
and  quite  the  boy  again.  Only  he  never 
was  a  boy,  so  it  has  all  the  charm  of  fresh- 
ness to  him.  He 's  an  eccentric  chap, 
very,  is  n't  he  ?  Goes  off  by  himself  all 
the  time,  and  has  queer  notions.  I  can't 
say  I  understand  him ;  and  I  can't  say  I  've 
ever  liked  him,  until  this  year.  But  then 
I  've  never  known  him.  My  wife  was 
vexed  at  Helen  Courtice's  leaving  him  in 
the  lurch,  so  she  thought  we  'd  better  look 
after  him  a  bit.  You  know  he  's  awfully 
'  gone '  on  Helen,  and  was  blue  as  death  at 
first.  But  he  's  looking  up  a  bit  now." 

Looking  up!  I  should  say  he  was.    Then 


38  Alexia. 

Murray  knew  nothing  of  the  maiden  with 
the  Greek  name,  and  the  Portuguese  grand- 
father ?  If  Geoffrey  had  been  sly  about  the 
thing,  I  should  be  less  lenient  toward  him. 

"  He  said  the  fisher-people  over  at 
Quartz  Head  interested  him,"  I  ventured 
to  say  cautiously  ;  "  especially  one  old  man 
and  his  family,  —  Iron,  or  some  such  name. 
He  was  telling  me  amusing  anecdotes  of 
them." 

"  Oh,  yes,  old  Iron  is  a  kind  of  servant 
of  ours,  —  a  queer,  superannuated  fisher- 
man. Laura  and  I  discovered  Quartz 
Point  years  ago,  when  it  had  only  a  light- 
house and  one  other  on  it  ;  and  the  first 
object  we  spied  was  old  Iron,  sitting  on  a 
rock,  all  doubled  up,  like  a  chimpanzee. 
We  got  him  to  row  us  across  the  harbor, 
and  he  's  been  doing  it,  off  and  on,  ever 
since.  He  has  a  grandchild,  who  ferries 
for  him,  now  he  's  got  so  old ;  the  Sisters 
of  the  convent  have  looked  after  her  and 
kept  her  in  all  these  years.  She's  the 
handsomest  girl  you  ever  saw,  and  intelli- 
gent, and  lovely  altogether ;  quite  a  char- 
acter in  the  little  town,  and  has  a  hard 
history." 


Alexia.  39 

"  Geoff  said  she  was  very  beautiful." 

"  Oh,  Geoff  was  regularly  stunned,  when 
he  first  saw  her  ;  he  raves  about  her. 
And  no  wonder,  either,  she  's  so  remark- 
able. Now  look  here,  Farley,"  he  said, 
stopping  short,  "  you  've  never  seen  our 
little  bluff,  have  you  ?  Well,  come  down 
with  us  on  Saturday,  and  see  it  for  your- 
self. We  '11  go  down  early  and  go  out 
sailing,  and  I  '11  show  you  all  the  points, 
including  the  village  beauty, —  Mrs.  Trevor, 
of  course,  I  mean,"  he  added,  laughing. 
"  It 's  quiet  as  death,  and  in  a  way  primi- 
tive, but  that  you  '11  like,  as  we  do.  And 
Laura  will  be  awfully  glad  to  see  you." 

I  was  n't  sure  how  awfully  glad  Geoff 
would  be  to  see  me,  but  I  said  I  would  go, 
with  much  joy.  It  was  just  what  I  wanted. 
I  did  n't  see  Geoffrey  again  until  we  found 
him  swinging  his  legs  over  the  edge  of 
Blynn's  wharf,  at  Quartz  Head,  on  the 
Saturday.  He  was  smoking,  and  looked 
the  picture  of  calm  content.  I  fancied 
he  had  not  been  away  from  the  place  for 
some  days. 

Geoffrey,  I  am  sure,  did  not  suspect  why 
I  had  come  to  Quartz;  my  intimacy  with 


4<D  Alexia. 

him  accounted  for  Murray's  asking  me. 
He  had  come  over  in  a  little  tender  to  take 
us  on  board  Murray's  sloop,  which  was 
ready  for  us,  with  its  mainsail  flapping. 
We  sailed  down  the  Willovvby  shore  first ; 
misty  and  purple  and  beautiful  it  was, 
with  its  Rhine-like  castles  towering  over 
the  trees,  and  its  more  modestly  placed 
yet  equally  majestic  villas,  hiding  behind 
them  ;  and  then  we  stood  ten  miles  out  to 
sea.  I  caught  the  charm  of  the  place  at 
once;  it  was  the  air  of  life  with  which  my 
lungs  were  filling.  Geoffrey  had  not  over- 
done by  a  syllable  in  what  he  had  told  me 
about  Quartz  ;  the  sailing  was  perfection. 
Both  he  and  Murray  rallied  me  upon  my 
ravings  ;  I  seldom  excite  myself  over  scen- 
ery, but  am  dumbest  when  I  enjoy  most. 
This  was  so  exhilarating,  however,  that  it 
made  me  boisterous,  this  swift  open-sea 
sailing.  But  if  going  out  was  lovely,  com- 
ing back  was  lovelier ;  and  we  had  every 
variety  of  speed  in  our  motion.  The  sun 
was  setting  behind  the  old  town,  with  its 
irregular  picturesque  profile  clear  cut  and 
sharply  defined  against  a  yellow  sky.  We 
were  becalmed  outside,  and  had  a  long 


Alexia.  41 

opportunity  of  observing  this  grand  and 
gloomy  outline,  until  the  background  was 
no  longer  yellow,  and  the  profile  ceased  to 
be.  Then  the  breeze  freshened  into  a 
small  gale;  and  we  came  spinning  into  the 
harbor,  with  a  reefed  mainsail.  Geoffrey 
was  quiet  while  we  were  out.  He  was 
either  lying  flat  on  his  back,  looking  up  at 
the  sky,  wearing  a  tranquil  expression,  —  so 
different  from  the  old  bored  look !  —  or  he 
was  making  marks  on  small  pieces  of  pa- 
per which  he  pulled  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Let's  see  your  sketch,  old  man,"  I  said 
once,  holding  out  my  hand. 

"  It's  not  a  sketch,"  he  replied.  "  I  was 
correcting  an  exercise  ;  I  am  teaching  old 
Iron's  grandchild  German." 

"  The  deuce  you  are  !  "  cried  Murray. 
"  Then  that 's  why  you  two  are  poring 
over  books  so  eternally.  She  ferries  him 
over,  Farley,  and  ferries  him  back,  and 
round  the  lighthouse,  and  into  that  little 
inlet  over  there ;  and  they  sit  and  chat 
and  scribble  by  the  hour.  I  hope  you 
don't  pay  her  by  the  job,  Geoff  ;  the 
Iron  family  will  soon  be  paupers,  if  you 
do  !  I  thought  she  was  trying  to  convert 


42  Alexia. 

you  ;  and  was  preaching  sermons  to  you, 
or  writing  them,  rather.  I  did  indeed. 
You  know  this  little  antiquated  town  of 
ours  boasts  a  very  advanced  church, 
Farley." 

"Advanced!"  laughed  Geoffrey.  "Hear 
the  unenlightened ;  the  poor  Protestant ! 
'T  is  a  restoration  of  the  original  fabric,  my 
child.  Let  me  bring  Father  Worthing 
over  to  talk  you  into  it,  and  not  a  doubt 
will  remain.  Mine  have  been  swept  away 
like  cobwebs." 

"  You  'd  better  not  let  Alice  hear  you 
make  light  of  the  subject,  that 's  all.  She  's 
the  fiercest  little  churchwoman,"  Murray 
said,  turning  to  me.  "  But  she  knows 
what  she  's  talking  about,  and  that 's  more 
than  you  do,  you  hardened  old  pagan !  " 
-This  last  to  Geoff. 

When  we  picked  up  our  moorings,  it 
was  dark.  Murray  said  dinner  would  be 
waiting.  "  It  always  is  waiting,"  he  said, 
with  a  sigh.  "  I  never  do  get  home  on 
time,  and  Laura  is  an  abused  woman." 

As  we  came  up  to  the  float,  in  the  ten- 
der, I  made  out  a  small  dory,  with  a 
girlish  figure  on  one  of  the  thwarts.  I 


Alexia.  43 

knew  instantly,  from  Geoffrey's  alert  man- 
ner, who  it  was. 

At  the  sound  of  our  oars,  the  figure 
turned  ;  and  in  the  red  glare  of  the  lan- 
tern which  hung  high  over  the  float,  I  saw 
a  face.  I  knew  then  how  Geoffrey  felt. 
She  was  entrancing,  bewildering !  Mur- 
ray had  said  nothing  about  her;  Geoffrey 
not  half  enough.  I  was  conscious  of 
burning  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  would  have 
reduced  the  heart  of  a  stoic  to  atoms. 
Not  for  me,  of  course,  that  smile  ;  it  began 
at  Murray,  but  lingered,  and  turned  to 
glory  when  it  fell  on  Geoff.  He  gave  her 
a  tender,  melting  glance  ;  the  two  under- 
stood—  or  misunderstood  —  each  other,  evi- 
dently. He  spoke  simply  to  her,  as  we 
passed,  fending  her  boat  with  his  hand. 
"We  had  a  good  sail,"  he  said. 

"  I  saw  you,"  responded  the  girl,  in  a 
fresh,  sweet  voice  ;  young  and  yet  well- 
modulated,  like  a  gentlewoman's. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  a  passenger  who 
has  gone  to  the  Club-house,"  she  ex- 
plained, looking  up  at  the  shore.  Geof- 
frey's face  changed  at  once.  "  Row  home, 
Alexia,"  he  said  softly,  "  and  our  man 


44  Alexia. 

here  will  take  the  passenger  over,  may  n't 
he,  Murray?" 

"  Of  course,"  Murray  replied. 

"  It's  much  too  late,"  continued  Geoffrey, 
in  a  fatherly  tone,  "  for  you  to  be  ferrying 
strangers  across,  my  child ;  you  must  not 
do  it ! " 

"  But  I  know  this  gentleman,"  she 
pleaded,  with  a  deprecatory  look  at  Geof- 
frey, as  if  she  were  in  the  habit  of  obeying 
him.  "It's  Mr,  Gray;  a  friend  of  yours 
too,  Mr.  Trevor,"  she  added,  turning  to 
Murray. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  then,"  said  Mur- 
ray, carelessly.  "  But  it 's  quite  true  what 
Mr.  Geoffrey  says,  Alice ;  and  your  grand- 
father must  be  well  overhauled  for  sending 
you  out  alone  after  dark.  Tell  him  I  say 
so  too.  Good-night.  Be  careful."  And 
we  started  up  the  road  —  the  short  cut  — 
rather  than  along  the  bank,  as  showing 
more  signs  of  "decent  haste,"  Murray  said. 

Geoffrey  started  with  us,  but  went  back, 
after  taking  a  dozen  steps.  "  I  'm  going 
over  to  the  Head  for  a  few  minutes,"  he 
said;  "I  won't  be  long;  but  don't  wait 
dinner  for  me." 


Alexia.  45 

"  You  '11  be  awfully  late,  Geoff,"  shouted 
Murray  ;  but  there  was  no  answer,  and  we 
heard  the  scraping  of  oars. 

"It's  all  nonsense,"  declared  Murray, 
"  his  going  over  now.  I  '11  bet  a  hat  it 's 
only  to  watch  that  child ;  he  's  always 
holding  forth  on  the  subject  of  her  being 
out  after  dark  in  the  dory.  And  she  is 
too  pretty  by  a  long  sight.  What  do  you 
think  of  her,  Farley  ? "  he  said,  turning  to 
me.  "  Is  n't  she  the  loveliest  thing  you 
ever  saw  ? " 

"  I  never  have  seen  such  a  face  in  my 
life,"  I  answered  shortly.  Somehow,  I 
did  n't  want  to  talk  about  her  then.  She 
was  far  above  any  ideal  I  had  formed  of 
her  —  or  of  anybody. 

Was  Murray  —  was  his  wife  —  were  they 
all  —  stark,  staring  blind  ? 


46  Alcxia. 


IV. 

MRS.  MURRAY  TREVOR  had  been 
a  dashing  girl  in  society  a  few 
years  before  ;  she  was  much  changed,  and 
looked  white  and  languid.  She  asked 
Murray  to  ring  for  dinner,  as  he  passed 
through  the  house,  to  the  veranda,  where 
she  was  sitting. 

"  Murray  is  used  to  spoiled  food,  Mr. 
Farley,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  putting  out 
her  hand,  "  and  so  must  yon  learn  to  be, 
if  you  copy  his  habits.  But  I  am  very 
glad  indeed  to  see  you,  if  I  do  begin  with 
a  scolding." 

"  Poor  thing!"  murmured  Murray,  stoop- 
ing over  her  to  kiss  her,  "  why  don't  you 
have  your  dinner  at  the  proper  time,  and 
leave  us  miserable  sinners  to  go  without, 
or  get  scrapings  ?  It  would  serve  us  right, 
when  we  're  an  hour  late, — an  hour  and 
a  half,  by  Jove  !  "  he  exclaimed,  glancing 
at  the  clock  through  the  window. 


Alexia.  47 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  appetite  when  I  am 
alone,"  said  Laura.  "  Do  run  and  get  ready. 
I  'm  positively  afraid  to  meet  the  cook ! 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  revert  to  this  unpleas- 
ing  topic  of  time"  said  Laura,  sending 
away  her  soup,  "  but  may  I  ask  what 
men  do  with  their  watches,  when  they 
depart  for  what  they  are  always  pleased 
to  call  a  '  little  sail '  ?  Do  time-pieces 
stop  in  that  enchanted  region  the  deck 
of  a  yacht,  or  what  is  the  reason  that  no- 
body ever  comes  home  to  dinner,  within 
three  hours  or  so  of  the  hour  set  ? " 

"You  forget,  Laura,"  said  Murray,  with 
an  aggravating  air  of  imparting  informa- 
tion, "  that  we  depend  upon  the  wind  in 
sailing.  If  we  went  and  came  on  our  own 
feet  it  would  be  different ;  there  would  be 
no  excuse  for  us  then.  You  know  I 
always  say  to  you  before  I  start,  '  Don't 
expect  me  back  until  you  see  me,  and 
have  your  dinner  at  the  usual  time.'  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  say  something  too,"  laughed 
Laura.     "  I  say  that  when  I  marry  a  man, 
and   he  plants  me  on  a  desert  island,  — 
even  if  that  island  does  afterward  turn  into 
a  peninsula,  —  I  say  I  like  to  eat  one  meal 


48  Alexia. 

a  day  in  his  company,  or  in  somebody's 
company.  That's  what  /  say." 

"  How  did  your  island  turn  into  a  pen- 
insula ? "  I  asked  Mrs.  Trevor. 

"  Why,  you  know  there  is  only  a  strip 
of  sand  and  shingle  connecting  us  with  the 
mainland  ?  Well,  that  used  not  to  exist ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  has  been  formed  gradually 
by  storms,  which  threw  up  quantities  of 
stones.  With  some  help  of  man  there  has 
been  formed  a  dusty  and  hot  and  windy, 
but  nevertheless  grateful,  passage  across. 
I  never  get  into  a  boat,  if  I  can  help  it  ; 
and  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  know  that,  in 
case  of  emergency,  I  can  pass  over  dry- 
shod  to  my  country  and  my  country's 
people." 

"You  are  not  fond  of  sailing,  then?" 
I  have  rarely  seen  a  yachtsman's  wife 
who  was. 

"  Well,  I  used  to  sail,  —  was  quite  a  skip- 
per myself,  in  fact,  if  you  can  believe  it. 
I  am  not  like  the  woman  who  told  me  once 
(her  husband  being  a  great  sailor)  that  she 
could  tell  the  difference  between  a  sloop 
and  a  schooner  only  by  remembering  that 
sloop  had  one  syllable  and  one  mast,  and 


Alexia.  49 

schooner  two  !  But  my  boating  days  are 
over  now,  and  I  am  selfishly  losing  my 
interest  in  it." 

I  wondered  why  she  lived  there,  so 
lonely  and  apparently  so  discontent. 
Murray  Trevor  was  not  the  man  to  make 
a  woman  live  where  she  did  n't  choose  ; 
and  I  have  yet  to  be  presented  to  the  per- 
son of  that  gender,  of  any  spirit,  who  will 
stay  there  ! 

"  You  are  not  specially  attached  to  this 
place,  then  ?  "  I  said,  rather  stupidly. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  said  Murray,  hastily  ;. 
"  don't  mind  her.  Laura  likes  it  very 
much,  and  the  air  agrees  with  her  wonder- 
fully. That 's  why  we  stay  here,"  he  ad- 
ded, looking  affectionately  at  her  through 
his  eye-glass.  "  But,  strange  to  say,  with 
Laura's  touch  of  invalidism  [she  had  not 
had  a  well  moment  for  three  years  !]  she 
has  taken  a  dislike  to  the  water,  —  sail- 
ing, rowing,  and  all  that ;  and  has  even  a 
kind  of  fright  about  it.  We  used  to  sail 
together  constantly  ;  in  fact,  it  was  on 
Laura's  account  we  came  here  originally, 
and  it  was  she  who  made  me  build  this 
house.  I  am  awfully  sorry  to  say  she  is 
4 


50  Alexia. 

lonely  here,  and  utterly  refuses  to  let  any 
women  come  and  stay  with  her." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  women  would  come  by 
themselves,  and  be  contented  here,"  said 
Laura;  "  but  I  seem  to  know  only  butter- 
flies, who  either  bring  a  lot  of  men  with 
them,  or  look  bored  to  death  all  the  time. 
And  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  entertain 
a  party.  I  never  shall  forget  Helen's 
yawns,"  she  said,  turning  to  Geoffrey,  who 
had  come  in  not  long  before,  "  when  she 
came  to  spend  a  week  with  me  here,  once  ! 
There  's  nothing  to  do  really,  you  know," 
turning  to  me,  "  except  to  sail ;  there  's  ab- 
solutely no  driving,  and  I  will  not  ask  any- 
body here  to  mope." 

"  If  a  well  woman  mopes  in  this  place, 
she's  a  fool!"  exclaimed  Murray.  "I 
don't  care  whether  she 's  engaged  to  you 
or  not,  Geoff." 

Geoffrey  paid  no  attention  to  this  shaft, 
and  I  doubt  if  he  had  been  listening.  He 
spoke  suddenly.  "  Murray,  old  Iron  is  in 
a  way  your  own  man  ;  can't  you  make  a 
contract  with  him  to  do  your  ferrying, 
and  nobody  else's  ?  " 

"  I  do  make  a  contract  with  him,"  re- 


Alexia.  51 

plied  Murray.  "  He  works  for  hardly  any- 
body but  me.  But  if  you  mean,  can't  I 
make  a  contract  with  him  by  which  Alice 
shall  row  nobody  else,  why,  I  don't  see 
how  I  can,  exactly,  Geoff.  We  have  half-a- 
dozen  boats  of  our  own,  now,  and  boys 
and  men  lying  about,  doing  nothing,  when 
we  don't  '  sail  ;  and  there  is  n't  work 
enough  for  that  stupid  old  donkey,  Iron, 
as  it  is.  The  girl  likes  to  feel  she  is  help- 
ing her  grandfather,  and  the  exercise  is 
good  for  her.  I  can  tell  old  Iron  to  do 
his  own  work  at  night ;  for  I  agree  with 
you  that  it 's  a  bad  thing  for  Alice  to  be 
out  late,  carrying  yachtsmen  across  the 
harbor." 

We  had  adjourned  to  the  veranda  now, 
while  Murray  was  talking,  and  were  sitting 
there,  with  our  coffee.  The  lights  in  the 
harbor  were  twinkling,  and  those  on  the  op- 
posite shore  ;  and  over  on  Blynn's  wharf  a 
great  red  eye  glowed.  We  could  hear  the 
plashing  of  oars,  as  the  poets  say,  and  the 
curfew  bell  on  Quartz  Head.  Otherwise  it 
was  still  as  death,  until  Mrs.  Trevor  spoke. 

"  It's  a  bad  thing,"  she  said,  in  answer 
to  Murray's  last  speech,  "  for  a  girl  in 


52  Alexia, 

Alice's  position  to  be  so  pretty,  —  a  very 
bad  thing  indeed  !  "  This  with  great  em- 
phasis. "  But  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do 
about  it.  The  Sisters  over  there,  with  the 
best  and  most  mistaken  intentions  in  the 
world,  have  given  her  a  careful  and  admi- 
rable training — for  anything  but  the  life 
she  leads.  However,  they  have  made  her 
a  religious,  modest  girl.  She  will  have  to 
be  out  at  night  sometimes,  —  all  girls  in  her 
station  do, — and  certainly  our  shielding  her 
fitfully  from  an  occasional  discomfort  will 
only  do  her  harm.  She  is  very  fortunate 
in  many  things,"  Laura  added,  turning  to 
me.  "  They  are  fearfully  poor,  and  many 
girls  so  placed  would  be  forced  to  stay  in 
a  hot  kitchen  [Geoffrey  got  up  from  his 
chair,  with  a  kind  of  bounce,  and  threw 
his  cigar  into  the  grass],  cooking  and 
washing  and  doing  every  kind  of  hard 
work  [he  was  pacing  the  veranda  now, 
near  us],  whereas  she  has  air,  exercise, 
and  a  good  deal  of  leisure.  She  has  been 
taught  music,  French,  and  the  most  ex- 
quisite needlework.  She  could  earn  her 
living  by  her  altar-embroidery,  I  should 
think ;  it  is  wonderful.  I  am  sorry  for 


A  lex  ia.  53 

her,  but  in  a  different  way  from  you  men. 
She  is  in  an  entirely  false  position,  and 
must  feel  it.  She  has  had  petting  and 
admiration  enough  this  summer  alone,  to 
turn  twenty  heads." 

"  Is  her  head  turned  ?  "  I  asked  innocently. 

"  No,"  said  Geoffrey  abruptly,  stopping 
in  his  walk. 

"  Yes,"  said  Laura.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Geoffrey.  In  the  way  you  mean,  no. 
That  is  to  say,  she  is  neither  vain  nor  silly. 
But  she  knows  she  is  not  one  of  the  same 
lot  as  the  rest  over  there,  —  her  own  peo- 
ple. You  can  see  that,  by  talking  with 
her  for  two  minutes,  in  spite  of  her  per- 
fectly respectful  manner." 

"  I  beg  leave  to  differ,"  growled  Geoffrey. 

"  It  is  patent,  at  least  to  me  ;  again  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Geoffrey.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  she  makes  the  townspeople 
feel  it.  She  only  realizes  it  herself,  and 
is  too  sweet,  naturally,  to  let  it  be  seen, 
for  fear  it  might  hurt  them.  Her  birth 
is  obscure,  —  unknown,  I  may  say, —  and 
darkened  by  disgrace.  This  sounds  hard 
and  unfeeling  in  me,  you  think,  but  it  is 
neither.  I  am  a  better  friend  to  this  poor 


54  Alexia. 

girl,  you  will  find,  than  those  who  try 
to  raise  her  above  her  life,  —  temporarily, 
and  about  six  inches,  —  if  it  is  raising  her 
at  all,  which  I  doubt,"  she  went  on,  glan- 
cing at  Geoffrey,  "  and  who  will  let  her 
drop  again,  discontented  with  her  lot,  and 
worse  off  than  ever  !  " 

Well,  Laura's  trumpet  gave  forth  no 
uncertain  sound  now !  Murray  had  not 
heard  any  of  this  last,  —  he  had  gone  in 
to  get  another  cigar,  —  but  Geoffrey  was 
furious.  He  was  silent;  but  his  back  was 
a  study. 

Laura  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  ex- 
hausted. She  had  evidently  been  waiting 
her  opportunity,  and  had  nerved  herself 
to  give  Geoff  this  "  piece  of  her  mind." 
The  subject  dropped,  and  was  not  re- 
newed —  then. 

Murray  and  Geoffrey  strolled  down  to 
the  Club  or  the  float  with  their  cigars, 
but  I  stayed  with  Mrs.  Trevor.  As  soon 
as  the  two  men  had  disappeared  she  be- 
gan, as  I  knew  she  would.  "  You  are 
Geoffrey's  best  friend  and  only  confidant, 
he  tells  me.  May  I  ask  you  what  you 
think  of  his  engagement  ?  " 


Alexia.  55 

I  hesitated.  There  was  much  to  say,  and 
Helen  Courtice  was  her  cousin.  "  I  think 
a  good  deal  '  of  it,  in  the  sense  of  '  about ' 
it,"  I  answered,  half  smiling.  "  Geoffrey's 
affairs,  for  some  reason  or  other,  are  more 
mine  than  my  own  ;  I  might  almost  say, 
than  his !"  Then  I  told  her  how  troubled 
I  had  been  at  first,  the  engagement  had 
been  so  precipitate  ;  then  that  I  had  become 
reconciled,  seeing  Geoffrey  growing  calm 
and  content ;  how  exasperated  I  had  been 
at  Helen's  going  away,  when  matters  were 
running  so  smoothly;  and —  I  stopped. 
I  was  not  asked  anything  farther. 

"  H'm  ;  I  did  n't  know  much  about  this," 
said  Laura,  musing.  "  It  seemed  a  fitting 
enough  match  to  me.  Then  Geoffrey  has 
behaved  well ;  and  Helen,  true  to  her 
character,  has  been  thoroughly  selfish. 
But  do  you  know,"  she  raised  herself  in 
her  chair,  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face, 
"  have  you  any  idea,  what  he  is  doing  now 
—  down  here  ?  " 

I  mumbled,  in  an  indistinct  tone,  as  if 
I  had  been  guilty  of  something,  that  I  — 
no  —  that  is  to  say,  I  did  have  an  idea, 
but  I  did  n't  know. 


56  Alexia. 

"  He  has  been  here  a  month,"  began 
Laura,  shutting  her  eyes,  and  laying  her 
head  back,  as  if  she  were  very  weary. 
"  You  know  he  came  in  the  first  place  at 
my  request.  I  heard  he  was  moping,  and 
I  knew  he  was  queer,  and  had  no  ties,  so 
I  was  anxious  to  have  him  here,  and  to  do 
something  for  him  ;  cheer  him  up,  if  pos- 
sible. He  does  n't  like  me;  but  I  pretend 
not  to  know  it,  and  I  dare  say  he  does  n't 
know  it  himself.  I  have  urged  him  to 
stay  on  with  us,  and  so  has  Murray.  I 
am  not  about  much,  nor  '  in  '  things,  and 
poor  dear  old  Murray  is  as  blind  as  a  bat, 
so  we  have  both  thoroughly  misunderstood 
the  situation.  This  girl's  beauty  took  hold 
of  him  at  once  ;  it  is  of  an  extraordinary 
kind  ;  you  have  perhaps  seen  her  ?  She 
is  apt  to  be  about  with  her  boat." 

I  said  yes,  I  had  seen  her ;  she  was 
marvellous.  If  Laura  knew  how  her  face 
had  haunted  me  ! 

"  She  is,  truly.  I  tremble  every  time 
I  see  her  ;  for  sooner  or  later  she  is  sure 
to  be  begged,  borrowed,  or  stolen  for  an 
artist's  model.  The  seclusion  of  this  spot 
and  the  Sisters'  care  have  been  her  salva- 


Alexia.  57 

tion,  so  far.  Geoffrey  got  interested  in 
her  studies  first,  and  talked  all  the  time 
about  her  pluck  and  her  intelligence.  He 
is  twice  her  age,  and  I  thought  nothing 
about  it,  except  to  be  glad  that  she  had 
such  a  patron,  and  he  such  an  interest. 
Then  he  began  to  pity  her,  and  to  do  little 
things  to  make  her  life  brighter.  He  sent 
her  a  dress,  which  the  Sisters  declined  for 
her,  however  [Oho !  Mr.  Geoff]  ;  he  ar- 
ranged her  time,  so  that  she  could  be  with 
him  constantly ;  he  brought  her  books, 
and  he  taught  her  German.  Latterly  he 
is  with  her  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and 
naturally  the  girl  chafes  at  any  duty  which 
keeps  her  away  from  him.  I  am  sure  this 
is  the  first  afternoon  he  has  given  to  Mur- 
ray for  a  fortnight,  and  he  rarely  sits  an 
hour  after  dinner  with  him  or  me.  They 
row  about  usually,  I  believe,  he  and  Alice. 
It 's  perfectly  dreadful,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
somehow  were  very  much  to  blame  about 
it." 

"  Has  Geoffrey  told  you  all  this  ? "  I 
asked,  in  amazement.  It  was  very  unlike 
him  to  speak  of  it  to  her. 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  "     Her  lip  curled.     "  Not 


58  Alexia. 

a  word.  And  if  you  will  believe  so  absurd 
a  statement,  I  have  never  even  suspected 
this  until  to-day.  Sister  Ignatia,  a  sweet, 
charming  little  Englishwoman,  came  here 
this  morning,  and  poured  out  her  woes  to 
me.  She  is  worried  to  death;  they  res- 
cued Alice  from  the  gutter,  one  might  al- 
most say,  —  for  the  babies  of  such  people 
play  where  their  fathers  fall  ;  and  she  has 
endeared  herself  to  them  by  her  lovely, 
docile  ways,  and  by  her  affection,  too. 
They  have  authority  over  Alice,  and  yet 
they  have  n't  ;  she  is  free  to  go  and  come, 
and  her  work  is  with  her  oars,  you  know. 
I  could  see  the  Sister  but  a  few  minutes, 
for  I  was  keeping  the  doctor  waiting,  but 
we  are  to  have  another  interview." 

"  Does  this  girl  know  that  Geoffrey  is 
engaged,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  so.  At  least 
I  did,  if  I  supposed  anything.  I  can't  tell. 
You  see  I  have  n't  known  ;  I  have  n't  had 
time  to  suppose.  I  should  say  there  was 
as  great  a  probability  that  she  did,  as  that 
she  did  n't.  She  does  n't  know  yet  that 
she  loves  him,  as  I  take  it,  and  won't  un- 
til he  leaves  her.  It 's  this  horrible  awak- 


Alexia.  59 

ening,  at  the  wrenching  asunder,  that  I 
dread  for  the  child.  It  will  kill  her ;  she 
has  an  intense  nature,  Sister  Ignatia 
says." 

It  was  a  hard  case.  "  Geoffrey  's  not  a 
deceiver,"  I  said,  "  I  mean  a  wilful  one. 
He  's  a  fearful  blunderer,  and  I  doubt  if 
he  has  the  remotest  idea  of  what  he  is  do- 
ing. He  was  angry  with  you  to-night,  not 
because  of  what  you  said,  so  much,  as  that 
you  were  trying  to  thwart  him.  He  has 
always  had  his  own  way." 

"  Well,  I  am  thwarting  the  gentleman 
from  this  moment,"  she  said  grimly. 
"  Somebody  must  do  it,  and  at  once." 

I  said  I  recognized  the  truth  of  that 
statement,  and  would  help  her. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  what 's  the  first 
thing  to  do  ?  " 

"  Tell  the  girl  distinctly  that  he  is  going 
to  be  married." 

"  But  suppose  she  knows  it  ? " 

"Tell  her  that  Geoffrey  is  injuring  her 
forever." 

"  You  don't  understand  girls,  I  see. 
She  would  constitute  herself  his  champion, 
deny  the  charge,  defy  us,  and  quarrel 


60  Alexia. 

with  the  whole  town  for  his  sake.  Try- 
again." 

"  Tell  her  he  's  injuring  the  other  girl." 

"  Ah  !  that 's  better  ;  or  best  of  all,  that 
he  is  ruining  himself 7  That  will  do  it. 
Poor  little  thing  !  Don't  you  pity  her  ?  " 

Pity  her !  Every  time  I  thought  of 
those  great,  glorious  eyes,  turning  full  up- 
on that  miscreant  Geoffrey,  with  the  love 
she  herself  knew  not,  glowing  in  them 
and  out  of  them  ;  and  of  that  heavenly 
smile,  frank  and  unfearing,  I  had  seen  her 
bestow  upon  the  scamp,  I  felt  as  if  an 
assassin  were  a  cooing  dove  to  me,  plot- 
ting her  misery.  Yet  misery  it  was  for 
her,  poor  lamb,  on  either  path,  and  it 
might  better  be  unaccompanied,  or  un- 
caused, by  her  misdoing.  Dear  little 
thing !  How  different  I  felt,  now  that  I 
had  seen  her  !  Geoffrey  might  have  raved 
about  her  in  four  languages  ;  one  look  did 
more  for  me  than  all  his  apostrophes. 

"  I  have  a  plan,  I  think,"  said  Laura, 
after  a  pause.  "  Don't  let  Geoffrey  see 
her  much  to-morrow,  if  you  can  help  it ; 
and  by  Monday  I  shall  have  arranged  to 
keep  them  apart.  Will  you  kindly  ring 


Alexia.  61 

for  my  maid  ?  I  am  very  tired  !  "  And 
she  was,  —  worn  out. 

Laura  had  hardly  gone,  when  I  heard 
the  two  men  coming  up  the  steps  outside. 
I  felt  like  a  felon,  — a  plotter  always  does, 
no  matter  how  much  in  the  right  he  may 
be,  when  he  meets  the  object  of  his  machi- 
nations. "  Where  have  you  been,  you 
two  ?  "  I  asked  sleepily,  although  I  never 
was  wider  awake  in  my  life.  First  down- 
ward step  of  a  conspirator  ! 

"  Oh,  I  went  to  see  a  sail-maker  about 
a  new  jib,"  Murray  rejoined,  "  and  Geoff 
has  been  hanging  about  Blynn's,  buzzing 
the  fishermen,  haven't  you,  Geoff?" 

"  Then  you  've  been  over  to  the  town  ?  " 
I  asked,  suspicion  seizing  me.  He  was 
not  so  fascinated  with  fishermen  that  he 
spent  whole  evenings  with  them,  I  knew  ! 

"  Yes,"  yawned,  or  rather  growled, 
Geoffrey.  He  had  not  recovered  his 
good-nature,  it  seemed,  since  Laura's  at- 
tack, or  else  the  sight  of  me  revived  it. 
"  I  '11  go  to  bed,  I  think.  Good-night,  old 
man.  Good-night,  Murray." 

After  Geoffrey's  footsteps  had  died  away 
on  the  stair,  and  we  heard  him  stumping 


62  Alexia. 

about  overhead,  Murray  spoke.  "  Geoff 's 
all  up  a  tree  to-night,"  he  said ;  "  got 
bad  news,  —  a  despatch  from  Helen  at 
Homburg." 

"  What !  "  I  gasped.  She  might  have 
thrown  him  over.  Oh,  joy  !  if  she  only 
had! 

"  It  was  sent  down  from  town  to  Quartz. 
Her  mother  has  .died  suddenly,  and  she 
sailed  from  Bremen  to-day  !  " 

By  Jove ! 


Alexia.  63 


V. 

T  WONDER  if  Geoffrey  passed  half  as 
•*-  sleepless  a  night  as  I  did  that  Satur- 
day. I  hope  so,  I  'm  sure.  I  don't  mind 
lying  awake  for  his  sins,  if  he  does  it  too  ; 
but  to  do  all  the  tossing  and  turning,  and 
never  to  have  had  any  of  the  fun,  seems 
an  unequal  division.  It  poured  toward 
morning,  and  I  fell  asleep,  and  such  a  cu- 
rious spectacle  as  I  woke  to  find  !  It  was 
half  foggy,  half  bright,  and  the  sun  burn- 
ing its  way,  in  luminous  patches,  through 
the  mist,  made  lovely,  mirage-like  pictures, 
which  shifted  every  moment.  When  I 
looked  out  first  the  tops  of  one  or  two 
very  high  buildings  on  the  shore,  and  the 
bottoms  of  the  boats  —  of  course  I  mean 
the  lowest  parts  above  water  —  only  were 
to  be  seen.  That  is  to  say,  a  broad  belt 
of  vapor  hid  all  the  rest.  The  belt  was 
adjustable  ;  for  soon  the  lower  houses  and 
the  middle  green  appeared.  Now  and 


64  Alexia. 

then  a  topsail  would  shine  out  spectrally 
from  a  bank  of  fog,  or  perhaps  a  bright- 
colored  pennant,  or  a  golden  ball.  These 
wraith-like,  delicate  effects  changed  con- 
stantly, and  it  was  a  magic  hour  I  spent, 
watching  them. 

Geoffrey  came  down  after  we  had  fin- 
ished breakfast  and  were  lounging  about, 
a  little  limp  from  the  dampness.  He 
handed  me  the  telegram  he  had  received 
the  night  before. 

"  Trevor  told  me,"  I  said,  as  I  handed  it 
back,  after  reading  it.  "  It 's  awful.  What 
a  frightful  ending  to  the  summer's  pleasure ! 
Who  is  with  Miss  Courtice,  Geoffrey  ?  " 

"  The  Leonards  and  Lorimers,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  some  English  people  the  Cour- 
tices  have  known  for  years.  Everybody 
will  be  kind,  of  course ;  but  it  is  horrible, 
as  you  say.  Poor  Helen  !  I  'm  afraid  she 
will  be  ill." 

"  They  never  should  have  carted  the 
poor  old  lady  over  there  at  her  time  of 
life,"  remarked  Murray,  who  was  perched 
on  the  veranda-railing,  cutting  off  the 
end  of  a  cheroot.  "  The  last  voyage  I  took 
with  her  I  thought  they  would  never  get 


Alexia.  65 

her  home.  Helen  Courtice  will  kill  all 
her  relations,  dragging  them  off  to  Europe. 
It 's  a  mania  with  her.  She  's  a  perfect 
wandering  Jew.  Don't  you  let  her  hawk 
you  about  the  continent,  Geoff  ;  she  '11  kill 
you,  as  sure  as  she  does  ! " 

"  Murray,"  exclaimed  Laura,  who  had 
just  appeared  for  a  moment,  at  the  door, 
"your  delicacy  is  truly  infinite.  Now,. 
Geoffrey,  as  your  cousin's  wife,  and  your 
wife's  cousin,  I  am  qualified  to  advise  you. 
Marry  Helen  the  minute  she  gets  home, 
and  settle  down  in  this  country.  It's  a — " 

"  My  very  dear  respected  cousin's  wife, 
and  prospective  wife's  cousin,"  interrupted 
Geoffrey,  rudely,  —  he  was  still  angry  with 
Laura,  —  "I  never  took  advice  from  a  liv- 
ing soul  yet,  and  neither  did  Helen,  not 
even  from  each  other;  so  I  doubt  if  we 
begin  now.  But  thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  Well,  Geoffy,"  said  Murray,  hopping 
down,  and  slapping  him  on  the  back,  "if 
you  won't  be  married  the  instant  Helen 
lands,  and  before  she  's  buried  her  mother, 
you  will  have  some  breakfast  now,  won't 
you  ? "  And  they  went  through  the  door- 
way together,  into  the  dining-room. 
5 


66  Alexia. 

Laura  was  sitting  at  a  long  window  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  I  was  near  her,  in 
the  veranda.  An  old  bent,  sunburned  fel- 
low was  seen  clambering  up  the  bank, 
from  the  water's  edge.  He  looked  a  kind 
of  Sinbad,  with  his  shaggy  white  eye- 
brows and  long  white  beard,  or  perhaps 
more  like  a  sea-faring  Santa  Clans.  He  had 
gold  hoops  in  his  ears,  and  wore  a  blue 
and  white  checked  calico  "jumper."  He 
took  off  his  battered  straw  hat,  I  thought 
at  first  as  a  salutation,  but  it  was  only  to 
wipe  his  forehead,  I  found  ;  and  he  re- 
placed it  before  coming  into  Mrs.  Trevor's 
presence.  He  hitched  along  toward  us, 
and  backing  up  against  the  veranda  rail- 
post,  lounged,  or  shuffled,  there. 

"Good-mornin',"  he  said  casually.  "No 
sailin'  this  mornin',  I  guess.  I  come  up 
on  an  arrant,"  he  said,  his  lips  smacking 
between  every  two  phrases,  so  that  I  at 
once  recognized  Geoffrey's  portrait  of  him. 
"This  mornin'  my  Alice  was  out  with  the 
green  dory."  He  addressed  himself  im- 
partially to  Mrs.  Trevor  and  me;  looking 
first  at  one,  and  then  the  other.  "  '  Alice,' 
I  says  to  her,  '  where  be  you  a-goin'  with 


Alexia.  67 

that  dory  ? '  You  see  it  wa'n't  but  six 
o'clock.  '  Gran'father,'  she  says,  '  wal,' 
she  says,  '  I  'm  a-goin'  to  row  Mr.  Geoffery 
Tree-vor  over  to  church,  an'  that 's  where 
I  'm  a-goin','  she  says." 

Mrs.  Trevor  and  I  exchanged  despair- 
ing glances.  It  was  evident  we  had  got  to 
get  up  early  in  the  morning  to  circumvent 
Mr.  Geoff! 

"  You  see,  sir,"  he  explained,  turning  to 
me,  "  they's  a  little  church  over  there,  and 
my  Alice  she  goes  reg'lar." 

Geoffrey  appeared  at  the  dining-room 
door.  "  Oh,  you  're  there,  Iron,  are  you  ? 
And  you  found  my  sleeve-button  in  the 
dory  too,"  he  added,  seeing  a  glistening 
object  in  the  old  man's  hand.  "  I  'm  much 
obliged  to  you  ; "  and  he  held  out  a  coin. 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  emphatically, 
drawing  back,  and  eying  the  money  with 
a  greedy  look.  "  No,  sir  ;  you  've  done  me 
an'  the  child  too  many  good  turns  for  us 
to  take  your  quarters  of  dollars, — or  is  it 
a  half  ?  "  he  inquired,  trying  to  get  a  good 
look  at  it. 

Geoffrey  put  it  into  his  hand. 

"You're  determint  on  givin'  it  to  me, 


68  Alexia. 

aint  you,  sir,  an'  it 's  a  whole  dollar  too," 
he  chuckled. 

"  Look  you,  Iron,"  said  Murray,  stroll- 
ing out.  He  was  always  a  day  after  the 
fair,  and  had  heard  nothing.  "  Don't  you 
let  that  pretty  girl  of  yours  go  out  rowing 
after  dark  alone  ;  do  you  hear  me  ?  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  With 
all  the  money  I  pay  you,  and  Mr.  Geoffrey 
here  pays  you,  you  can't  be  so  hard  up  for 
fifteen  cents  that  you  have  to  send  that 
young  thing  out  at  night,  you  grasping 
old  duffer !  You  don't  deserve  to  have 
her  at  all." 

Old  Iron  grinned,  displaying  dental  de- 
ficiencies by  the  dozen.  "  I  'm  a-goin'  to 
tell  you  all  about  that,  Mr.  Tree-vor  ;  you 
see,  Alice  she  got  kint  o'  anxious  about 
me,  'cause  I  was  out  a-fishin',  an'  it  come 
on  to  blow.  So  the  gal  started  out  in  the 
green  dory;  and  while  she  was  a  kint  o' 
scootin'  round,  lookin'  for  me,  —  't  wa'n't 
really  blovvin',  you  know,  only  it  looked 
kint  o'  black,  —  wal,  a  gentleman  he  come, 
a-callin',  on  the  wharf,  an'  says  he,  kint  o' 
mad, '  Where  's  all  the  ferrymen? '  says  he. 
'  I  can't  see  nobody  to  row  me  over.  What 


Alexia.  69 

do  I  pay  for  reg'lar,'  says  he,  'an'  all  the 
men  gone  ?'  Jest  then  he  see  Alice,  who 
was  a-comin'  up,  an'  he  says,  '  You  come 
an'  row  me  acrost,  my  dear,'  says  he,  '  an' 
you  come  reg'lar,'  says  he,  'for  me;'  an' 
then  he  says  to  Blynn,  who  was  jest  a- 
comin'  down  on  the  wharf,  'This's  the  gal 
for  me,'  he  says,  '  an'  will  cut  you  loafers 
all  out,'  he  says,  '  gettin'  the  business  away 
from  you.  We  like  to  go  over  with  sech  a 
beauty,'  he  says,  a-winkin'  to  Blynn.  So, 
then,  when  Alice  she  gets  over  to  the 
float,  '  You  wait  for  me/  he  says  to  her, 
'an'  carry  me  back.'  It  wa'n't  dark  then, 
but  he  kep'  her  a-waitin'  half  a  nour,  an' 
thet  's  how  it  come  to  be  dark  when  you 
see  her  a-settin'  there." 

Geoffrey  had  gnawed  his  lip  and  ner- 
vously thrummed  with  his  foot  while  this 
yarn  was  in  progress,  and  his  face  had 
grown  blacker  and  blacker.  He  knew 
enough  not  to  "  let  fly,"  however,  and  it 
was  Murray  who  spoke. 

"  You  'd  better  keep  that  girl  close,  now 
I  tell  you,  Iron,"  he  said  seriously,  "  and 
that 's  my  advice  to  you.  It  won't  do  her 
any  good  to  hear  things  like  that,  and  if 


70  Alexia. 

she 's  got  to  be  kept  waiting  in  the  dark, 
as  she  was  last  night,  we  '11  see  that  she 
goes  back  to  the  '  Sisters/  and  stays  there. 
But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do,  old  man. 
I  '11  make  you  a  new  business  offer,  and 
we  will  go  down  on  the  rocks  and  talk  it 
over."  So  they  went  off  down  the  bank 
together,  the  old  man  looking  as  if  he 
would  break  his  neck  at  every  step,  or 
plunge. 

Geoffrey  pretended  to  read  the  paper. 

"There's  one  difficulty  disposed  of,"  I 
said,  drawing  my  chair  near  him,  and  sit- 
ting down,  "  but  not  the  biggest  one." 

"  What  in  thunder  do  you  mean  ? " 
snarled  Geoffrey. 

"  I  mean  that  you  are  the  biggest  diffi- 
culty that  poor  girl  has  to  contend  against. 
Do  you  understand  me  now  ?  Can't  you 
see  how  you  are  hurting  her  ? " 

"  No,"  he  retorted  angrily,  "  I  can't ;  but 
I  can  see  how  you  and  Laura  and  that 
infernal  old  idiot,  her  grandfather,  are 
trying  hard  to  do  it !  "  And  he  got  up  from 
his  chair  in  a  rage,  and  went  off. 

I  was  wild  to  see  the  girl  again,  and  by 
daylight  ;  not  from  curiosity,  I  thought, 


Alexia.  71 

so  much  as  to  find  out  the  best  way  of 
helping  her.  So  I  strolled  down  to  the 
float-stage,  and,  oddly  enough,  Alice  was 
just  bringing  her  boat  up  alongside,  with 
one  of  the  Trevors'  servant-maids,  coming 
from  church,  as  passenger. 

"  Can  you  row  me  across  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  up  brightly,  but  never  smiled, 
as  she  had  smiled  on  Geoff.  "  I  can't  for 
ten  minutes  or  so,  sir,"  she  replied.  "  I'm 
sorry  ;  but  I  'm  waiting  for  my  grandfather, 
who  has  gone  up  to  the  house.  [The  Tre- 
vors' was  "  the  house  "  to  all  the  towns- 
people.] He  has  to  be  back  over  there," 
pointing  to  the  town,  "  at  twelve  ;  but 
one  of  Blynn's  men  will  take  you,  sir," 
she  added,  as  another  dory  appeared  out 
of  the  mist. 

"No,  no,"  I  hastened  to  object,  "I  can 
wait  perfectly  well ;  I  have  nothing  special 
to  hurry  me." 

She  was  holding  the  boat  with  a  little 
brown  hand. 

"  Shall  I  get  in?"  I  asked. 

"  If  you  please,  sir." 

So  I  got  into  the  stern,  and  gazed  at 
her,  for  she  hardly  looked  at  me.  Pretty! 


72  Alexia. 

Well,  she  was  exquisite  ;  a  thousand  times 
more  beautiful  by  day  than  she  had  been 
by  the  crimson  glare  of  the  lantern.  It  was 
the  kind  of  beauty  that  sunlight  brings 
out,  and  touches  up,  and  intensifies.  I 
could  no  more  do  her  justice  with  this 
poor  pen  than  I  could  catch  the  changing 
hues  of  the  last  night's  sunset  with  a 
camera.  Yet  no  detail  was  lost  upon  me. 
It  was  a  childish  face,  and  yet  a  womanly. 
Great  masses  of  gleaming  hair,  dark  in  the 
shade,  bronze  in  the  light,  framed  it.  I 
had  not  even  noticed  her  beautiful  hair 
the  night  before  ;  she  was  a  queen  without 
that,  but  now  that  her  eyes  and  her 
smile  were  not  prejudicing  my  judgment, 
it  seemed  her  chief  glory.  Her  face  was 
serene  in  repose,  and  full  of  dignity ; 
spirited  in  action,  and  teeming  with  vi- 
vacity. When  she  spoke  or  smiled,  every- 
thing spoke  and  smiled  too,  —  her  eyes 
danced,  her  white  teeth  flashed,  her  dim- 
ples and  her  blushes  played,  and  little 
fascinating  pink  changes  came  and  went 
in  her  chin.  I  had  not  seen  her  angry  ; 
but  she  could  be  that  too,  I  knew.  It  was 
a  face  that  would  be  grand  in  storms. 


Alexia.  73 

I  was  completely  staggered  by  her  loveli- 
ness ;  I  own  it. 

The  patronizing  little  speeches  which 
I  had  cut  and  dried,  on  my  way  from  the 
house,  stuck  in  my  throat,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  queenly  innocent.  Her  move- 
ments were  marked  with  easy  grace.  The 
dingy  gown  was  shapeless,  and  patched 
and  darned  ;  but  a  lithe  figure  made 
itself  known  through  the  disguise.  A 
crimson  handkerchief  —  Geoffrey's  gift  — 
was  knotted  loosely  about  the  whitest  of 
rounded  throats.  Flaw  there  was  none,  as 
Geoffrey  had  said.  She  was  pluperfect ! 

The  old  man  kept  us  waiting  a  long 
time  ;  and  Alice,  who  had  taken  out  a 
book,  glanced  now  and  then  uneasily  in 
the  direction  of  the  Trevors'.  Perhaps  she 
had  an  appointment  with  Geoffrey,  my 
wicked  thought  suggested.  It  might  be 
embarrassing  for  her,  my  sitting  directly 
opposite  her  so  long,  it  occurred  to  me, 
so  I  got  out  of  the  boat,  walked  about 
a  bit,  then  came  back,  and  sat  on  one 
of  the  steps  of  the  float,  holding  the 
gunwale  with  my  foot.  At  last  I  man- 
aged to  say,  as  her  eyes  were  not  upon 


74  Alexia. 

me,  "  You  are  not  fit  for  this  sort  of 
work." 

She  looked  up,  astonished.  "  Why  ? "  she 
asked  simply,  her  glorious  deep-gray  eyes, 
with  their  heavy  fringes,  full  of  wonder. 

"  You  are  too  young,"  I  answered,  not 
as  bold  as  I  had  been.  What  eyes,  what 
eyes  ! 

"I  am  seventeen,"  she  said,  "and  very 
strong;  and  even  little  children  row.  I 
can  pull  for  hours  without  feeling  it. 
I  never  tire  myself.  And  this  dory  is 
small  and  light.  So  are  my  oars.  Look  !  " 
And  she  held  up  a  graceful  spoon-oar  of 
spruce.  "  Mr.  Geoffrey  Trevor  gave  Grand- 
father these."  She  smiled,  saying  this. 

"You  are  too  pretty,"  I  dared  to  say, 
giving  another  of  my  reasons.  She  looked 
up,  astonished,  again,  and  something  else, 
—  angry,  I  thought.  She  replied  with 
grave  dignity  this  time.  The  smile  was 
miles  away. 

"  I  am  well  known  here,  sir,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  but  with  a  heightened  color, 
"  and  I  am  very  good  at  looking  after  my- 
self. This  is  my  own  work,  which  I  try  to 
mind  quietly." 


Alexia.  75 

"  My  own  business,"  she  'might  have 
said,  but  she  was  perhaps  more  consider- 
ate of  my  feelings  than  I  had  been  of  hers. 
I  could  hear  the  sound  of  tears  in  her  low 
voice ;  she  was  pulling  out  the  row-locks 
nervously,  and  putting  them  in  again,  and 
I  could  not  see  her  eyes. 

As  she  sat  discomposed,  disturbed,  even 
alarmed  or  angry,  —  for  I  could  not  read  her 
mind  just  then,  —  so  beautiful  in  her  agi- 
tation, so  utterly,  totally  out  of  keeping 
with  her  fate,  I  felt  the  justice  of  Laura's 
remarks  more  keenly  than  ever.  If  this 
sensitive,  sweet  creature  was  not  aware  of 
her  superiority  over  the  townspeople,  — her 
own  people,  as  Laura  had  truly  named 
them,  —  she  was  wanting  in  everything 
she  disclosed,  — a  moral  paradox  she  must 
be. 

I  was  not  proud  of  myself.  I  might 
have  known  my  brutal  method  would  be 
the  very  worst  and  most  unsuccessful  one. 
I  had  done  well !  —  made  her  cry  the  first 
thing,  and  ranked  myself  among  her 
enemies.  She  changed  her  position,  and 
threw  off  her  discomfiture  like  magic. 

"  Have  you  been  here  much,  sir  ?  "    she 


76  Alexia. 

said.  "  We  have  such  good  fishing  just 
outside;  only  my  grandfather  says  there 
is  a  fashion  in  fishing,  and  it  has  gone  by 
just  now."  She  was  trying  to  be  pro- 
fessional, and  her  air  was  very  business- 
like. "  We  used  to  let  our  dories  too  a 
good  deal ;  but  everything  now  is  sailing 
— just  for  the  love  of  it.  That  is  Mr. 
Grant's  cutter  over  there,  the  Godiva ; 
it  has  only  six  feet  of  beam.  But  there  is 
still  a  smaller  one,  the  Shiva ;  it  holds 
only  one  man  at  a  time,  —  four  feet  across, 
I  think,  it  is.  Pretty  narrow,  I  call  that." 
And  she  laughed  a  forced  little  laugh,  and 
prattled  on.  I  was  not  to  have  another 
opportunity  of  airing  my  views,  it  seemed. 
It  was  a  clever  little  woman,  then.  Per- 
haps the  cornered  mouse  will  show  fight. 
I  never  observed  one. 

"  Blynn  is  going  to  have  a  steam-ferry," 
she  announced.  "  Then  our  business  will 
be  gone,  I  suppose,  unless  Grandfather  can 
get  a  position  on  it.  He  is  growing  old 
very  fast,  I  can  see  it  ;  and  he  loses  his 
breath,  and  his  eyes  are  not  good.  It  is 
very  sad  to  grow  old."  A  safe  general 
statement. 


Alexia.  77 

"  Then,  when  Blynn's  steam-ferry  takes 
away  your  work,  what  \v\\\ yott  do  ? "  I  said. 
I  seemed  to  be  saying  the  most  brutal 
things  to  this  girl  ;  what  was  the  matter 
with  me  ?  I  had  not  thought  how  that 
would  sound ! 

"  Oh,"  she  responded  gayly,  "  I  shall  do 
other  work.  The  Sisters  say  I  can  be 
sure  of  money  enough ;  they  have  taught 
me  a  good  many  things." 

"Mr.  Trevor  says  you  are  learning  Ger- 
man." 

She  flushed,  and  a  most  unmistakable 
joy  glanced  from  her  eyes  and  played  about 
her  lips.  She  smiled.  "I  am  stupid  about 
it,  /  think.  [Then  he  didn't?]  Some- 
times I  make  very  bad  blunders.  But  oh, 
how  I  like  it !  "  She  looked  at  me,  and 
said,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  "  Have  you 
ever  read  '  Undine '  ?  Mr.  Geoffrey  and 
I  are  translating  it  together." 

I  nodded. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  most  beautiful  story  ?  There 
is  one  place  I  tried  three  times  to  read 
aloud,  and  could  n't,  the  tears  choked  me 
so  !  It  reminds  me  of  a  book  I  was  read- 
ing aloud  to  the  Sisters  once,  when  I  was 


78  Alexia. 

small.  It  is  called  'At  the  Back  of  the 
North  Wind.'  When  I  came  to  the  last 
chapter  I  cleared  my  voice,  and  coughed, 
and  pretended  to  have  a  cold.  And  at  last 
I  laid  the  book  down,  put  my  head  on  my 
arms  on  the  table,  and  cried  it  out !  The 
Sisters  often  remind  me  of  that.  They 
never  cry,  I  think." 

"  Perhaps  they  do  in  secret,"  I  sug- 
gested. "  Are  n't  they  very  unhappy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  unhappy  !"  almost  shouted  Alice, 
roused  entirely  out  of  herself,  and  looking 
unspeakably  lovely.  "  No  !  They  are  per- 
fectly happy,  and  because  they  are  good. 
They  are  tempted  constantly ;  both  these 
Sisters  here  have  naturally  strong  wills 
and  quick  tempers,  and  each  of  them 
often  thinks  her  way  the  best.  But  they 
conquer  themselves;  and  they  are  so  meek 
and  so  patient  after  it !  And  ofi,  how 
hard  they  work !  Everybody  in  Quartz 
Head,  every  single  body  "  (she  used  quaint 
little  terms  now  and  then,  like  a  child)  "  is 
better  for  their  living  in  the  town.  I  could 
not  begin  to  tell  you  of  the  good  they  do. 
They  are  as  near  following  our  Blessed 
Lord's  example  as  any  of  the  saints.  And 


Alcxia.  79 

they  would  be  martyrs  too,  in  a  minute,  if 
the  chance  came  to  them." 

She  seemed  to  feel  at  home  with  me 
now  and  was  talking  naturally. 

"  And  do  the  Sisters  quite  approve  of 
your  doing  this  work,  — this  ferrying  ?  "  I 
asked  tentatively. 

She  shrank  up  again.  "  They  do,"  she 
answered,  with  sweet  dignity,  but  far  from 
me,  "or  I  should  not  be  doing  it." 

I  had  no  answer  by  me  at  the  moment; 
I  might  have  thought  of  twenty,  away  from 
those  eyes  ! 

Old  Iron  came  hitching  along,  while  I 
was  thus  embarrassed,  and  began  to  talk, 
of  course,  as  soon  as  he  hove  in  sight. 
"  You  need  n't  a  waited  ef  you  had  a  pas- 
senger," he  shouted,  in  his  cracked  voice. 
"  I  was  a-talkin'  with  Mr.  Tree-vor  ;  him 
an'  me  has  a  good  deal  o'  business  to  talk 
together."  He  shambled  into  the  dory,  and 
took  a  pair  of  oars.  "  You  see,"  he  went  on, 
as  he  thumped  them  into  the  row-locks, 
and  prepared  to  pull,  —  "you  see,  Alice, — 
wal,  we've  got  a  new  kint  of  arrangement 
now;  you  aint  to  be  out  any  more  o'  nights, 
an'  I  aint  sure  as  I  shall  let  you  —  " 


So  Alexia. 

"  Grandfather  !  "  cried  Alice,  implor- 
ingly, "  will  you  be  quiet  about  my  affairs  ? 
Don't  you  see  there's  a  strange  gentle- 
man with  us  ?  It 's  no  worse  my  doing 
my  own  work  [how  she  clung  to  that  ad- 
jective !]  late,  than  your  talking  me  over 
like  this  with  everybody !  "  There  was  no 
doubt  about  the  tears  now.  They  choked 
her  speech. 

The  old  man  was  evidently  overwhelmed 
with  surprise.  "  Alice  !  "  he  said  severely, 
"you  go  on  with  your  rowin',  an'  don't  you 
never  let  me  hear  sech  talk  agin.  This 
gentleman  is  a  rintimate  friend  of  Mr. 
Tree-vor's  and  Mr.  Geoffery's  both,  an'  I 
jest  seen  him  up  to  the  house,  a-settin' 
with  'em,  on  the  —  the, — with  'em"  he 
added,  the  word  being  too  much  for  him, 
or  escaping  him.  "  I  would  n't  talk  you 
over  with  non'  but  friends,  Alice,  an'  I 
could  n't  say  nothin'  but  good  of  you," 
he  whimpered,  sliding  rapidly  down  from 
his  very  temporary  perch,  and  looking  ab- 
jectly at  Alice,  who  was  still  displeased, 
and  showed  it.  "  But  this  I  will  say,  that 
when  ladies  an'  gentlemen  like  the  Tree- 
vor  family  takes  an  interest  in  us,  we  'd 


Alexia.  81 

oughter  let  'em  jedge  what 's  best  for  our 
good." 

Poor  Alice  !  It  was  impossible  to  be- 
lieve that  this  garrulous,  tough-skinned, 
mercenary  old  imbecile  had  the  same  blood 
in  his  veins  which  coursed  in  hers. 

I  tried  to  apologize  to  her  in  a  low  tone, 
very  lamely,  I  know,  for  what  I  had  said. 

"  It 's  nothing,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  kind 
of  sad  smile ;  and  I  longed  to  apologize 
again.  "I  should  learn  to  take  advice; 
but  Grandfather  blurts  out  everything  to 
everybody,  and  then  I  did  think,  hon- 
estly, sir,  that  you  were  a  little  outspoken, 
when  you  know  nothing  about  me.  [Noth- 
ing !  Good  gracious !  As  if  her  affairs 
had  not  been  the  principal  topic  of  con- 
versation ever  since  I  had  come  there !]  I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir."  Her  cheeks  were 
blazing,  her  sweet  lips  tremulous,  and  her 
eyes  glowing  like  coals  ;  and  of  course 
she  was  more  entrancingly  lovely  than 
ever  ! 

The  row  is  a  short  one  ;  it  seemed  like 

nothing,  it  was  so  soon  over.     Mr.  Geoff 

was  lounging  on  the  pier,  smoking ;  I  saw 

a   small   Whitehall   boat   bobbing  against 

6 


82  Alexia. 

the  piles,  and  I  knew  how  he  had  got 
there.  He  glanced  at  me,  blew  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  threw  away  his  cigar,  ap- 
proached Alice,  and  asked  her  where  she 
was  going.  "  Home,"  she  said.  She  lifted 
her  face  to  him,  with  a  joyous  look  in  it 
like  a  happy  child's.  "  I  '11  go  up  the  hill 
with  you  ;  may  I  ? "  This  was  a  bold 
stroke.  My  morning's  work  had  not  been 
madly  successful,  so  far.  But  as  I  saw 
that  infernal  old  nuisance,  Iron,  hobbling 
after  the  pair,  and  marked  that  Geoffrey 
dismissed  himself  at  the  corner,  I  felt 
better.  He  had  n't  made  much  by  that 
move  ! 

Laura  told  me  in  the  afternoon  that  she 
had  sent  word  to  the  Sisters  that  she 
would  provide  sewing  for  Alice,  so  that 
the  child  might  be  kept  in-doors  for  the 
present.  Poor  Laura  was  exhausted,  for 
she  could  bear  almost  nothing,  and  I  didn't 
see  her  again  during  that  little  visit. 


Alexia.  83 


VI. 

LATE  in  the  day  Geoffrey  thought 
there  might  be  another  despatch 
for  him  at  Quartz,  so  I  accompanied  him 
over  to  see,  and  Alice  rowed  us  back,  or  at 
least  offered  to  do  so.  Geoffrey  told  her 
to  sit  still,  and  he  would  do  the  rowing. 
I  knew  what  an  effort  it  cost  him  not  to 
oust  me  from  the  stern  and  put  her  ten- 
derly there,  and  make  her  comfortable 
with  his  coat.  Oh,  it  was  useless  to  argue 
the  point  of  her  birth,  or  her  degree.  She 
was  as  gently  turned  out  as  the  finest  lady 
in  the  land,  and  no  more  appropriately  set 
where  she  was  than  a  jewel  in  a  swine's 
snout.  It  was  absurd  to  disguise  the  fact, 
and  we  both  treated  her  with  as  much  def- 
erence as  we  dared. 

There  was  a  magnificent  sky  of  liquid 
gold,  and  we  made  out  another  sea  and 
villages  and  trees,  and  even  people,  in  it. 
Alice  was  in  a  gay,  bantering  mood,  and 


84  Alexia. 

Geoffrey  caught  it  from  her.  She  was 
confiding  and  coquettish  with  him,  and  al- 
together fascinating.  He  looked  at  her 
all  the  time.  So  did  I.  Who  could  blame 
either  of  us  ? 

Alice  sat  upon  the  thwart,  her  oars  ly- 
ing idly  by,  and  her  hands  folded  in  her 
lap.  That  she  was  serenely  happy  at  be- 
ing in  the  presence  of  Geoffrey,  and  that 
there  had  been  no  change  in  his  attitude 
toward  her,  was  plain.  Her  manner 
toward  him  was  artless  and  joyful,  as,  I 
suppose,  it  had  always  been.  It  gave  me 
a  kind  of  guilty  pleasure  to  see  those  two 
attractive  and  uncommon  beings  together. 
Alice  hardly  ever  spoke  first,  and  when 
she  did,  it  was  with  a  little  touch  of  defer- 
ence and  coquetry  impossible  to  describe, 
and  bewitching  to  witness. 

"  Alexia,"  said  Geoffrey,  —  and  he  made 
her  name  a  caress,  —  "  that  parson  does  n't 
speak  loud  enough  in  the  what  d'  you  call 
it,  —  mass?  —  the  mass.  I  could  n't  hear 
half  he  said.  And  what 's  the  name  of 
that  superb  circular  he  wears  ?  And 
where  did  he  get  it  ?  And  why  does  he 
wear  it?" 


Alexia.  85 

"  Oh,  what  a  lot  of  silly  questions  ! " 
exclaimed  Alice,  glancing  up  at  him,  with 
her  head  on  one  side,  and  slapping  her 
hands  to  get  the  salt  water  off  them.  She 
had  her  hair  in  a  great  brown  plait  down 
her  back,  and  was  altogether  five  years 
younger  than  she  had  been  in  the  morn- 
ing. "  I  embroidered  nearly  the  whole  of 
that  'circular,'  as  you  call  it,  myself.  It's 
a  cope,  and  he  wears  it  because  it 's  the 
proper  vestment  for  festivals." 

"  Well,  nothing  can  cope  with  it  for 
magnificence,"  retorted  Geoffrey,  who 
seemed  in  a  merry  mood,  for  an  orphan- 
in-law  so  recently  bereaved.  "  I  did  n't 
know  it  was  a  festival,  or  I  would  have 
worn  my  best  things  too.  I  have  some 
lovely  embroidered  shirts,  and  a  beautiful 
new  flowered  waistcoat.  I  'm  so  sorry 
I  have  n't  observed  the  day  properly,  — 
dressed  for  it,  I  mean.  What  festival 
is  it?" 

"It's  Whitsunday,  of  course,"  said 
Alice;  "a  fine  churchman  you  must  be, 
not  to  know  it !  Did  n't  you  hear  the 
Gospel  and  the  Epistle  and  the  Collect  ? 
The  clergyman  was  not  as  indistinct  as  all 


86  Alexia. 

that,  I  'ra  sure  !  And  did  n't  you  see  the 
red  altar-cloth  ? " 

"  I  did,"  answered  Geoffrey,  demurely  ; 
"  I  both  listened  and  observed.  But  why 
I  should  infer  that  a  red  altar-cloth,  and  — 
pardon  me,  I  am  about  to  pun  again  —  a 
read  Collect,  Epistle,  and  Gospel  should 
denote  a  whit,  or  white,  Sunday,  I  cannot, 
with  lightning  rapidity,  comprehend." 

And  this  was  Geoffrey  Trevor,  who 
hated  puns,  and  who  particularly  disap- 
proved of  a  flippant  tone  in  speaking  of 
serious  things.  But  that  was  in  other 
people,  to  be  sure! 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,  dear ! "  sighed  Alice, 
pretending  to  be  in  great  distress,  "  and 
have  I  worked  over  you  all  these  weeks 
for  this  ?  Don't  tell  anybody  you  are  my 
pupil,"  she  said  imploringly.  "  You  must 
know  —  I  must  have  told  you ; —  that  the 
red  is  for  the  flame,  —  the  cloven  tongues, 
as  of  fire,  that  came  and  'sat'  upon  the 
Apostles'  heads  ?  Don't  let  such  igno- 
rance go  any  farther.  I  will  go  over  the 
whole  subject  with  you  to-morrow,  if  you 
like,  or  to-night,  if  you  are  coming  to 
Vespers." 


Alexia.  87 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  was  coming  to  Vespers," 
Geoffrey  hastened  to  say.  Of  course  he 
was.  Trust  him  for  that.  He  must  come 
now,  he  said,  and  learn  more  about  the 
day.  They  did  not  insist  upon  my  going, 
I  noticed.  In  fact,  for  some  time  I  had 
been  quite  overlooked.  Well;  the  sewing, 
the  ruthless,  inexorable  sewing  was  form- 
ing itself  into  gores  and  gussets  —  gory 
gussets,  I  had  almost  said  —  for  those  little 
hands  in  the  morning.  It  might  even  now 
be  undergoing  the  process  of  "  basting,"  — 
an  appropriate  term,  I  thought,  —  and  poor 
Alice  was  having  her  last  day  of  peace. 
So  was  Geoffrey.  For  any  way,  and  come 
what  might,  I  was  going  to  have  it  out  with 
him  that  night.  How  cruel  we  seemed  to 
that  child  !  But  there  are  degrees  of  cru- 
elty, and  I  knew  who  was  inflicting  the 
worst ! 

We  three  men  dined  together,  and  Geof- 
frey left  for  his  Vespers,  in  the  middle  of 
the  meal.  Murray  and  I  sat  afterward 
and  smoked,  and  I  tried  to  arrange  my 
plan  of  attack.  In  spite  of  Geoffrey's  mis- 
conduct, I  did  so  long  to  find  a  good  easy 
way  out  of  the  difficulty  for  him  !  I  would 


88  Alexia. 

have  married  the  other  girl  —  the  super- 
fluous one  —  myself,  with  joy,  if  it  had 
been  possible,  —  Helen  Courtice  —  any- 
body ;  for  if  I  were  to  try,  I  could  never 
tell  the  hold  that  fellow  Geoffrey  had  on 
me.  But  there  could  be  no  easy  path  ;  it 
must  all  be  very  hard  going  now.  I  saw 
nothing  but  dreariness  and  blackness  in 
the  outlook.  Geoff  was  bound  to  be  mis- 
erable in  any  case  now,  and  his  duty  had 
become  his  necessity;  a  choice  of  two  evils 
even  was  denied  him. 

What  an  ass  he  had  been,  to  engage 
himself  to  Helen  Courtice,  in  the  first 
place  !  Why  should  he  ever  have  sacri- 
ficed himself  for  her  ?  She  was  nothing 
to  him,  and  would  never  have  given  up  a 
pin's  worth  of  pleasure  for  him, — a  vain, 
shallow-pated  thing,  with  only  looks  and 
lucre,  as  Murray  once  said,  to  recommend 
her. 

Murray  and  I  were  still  sitting  in  the 
veranda  when  Geoffrey  came  in,  which  he 
did  rather  early.  I  had  sounded  Murray 
a  little,  enough  to  find  that  he  cherished 
the  absurd  fallacy  yet  of  Geoffrey's  devo- 
tion to  Helen ;  and  when  I  mentioned 


Alexia.  89 

his  fancy  for  Alice,  he  pooh-poohed  it  as 
preposterous,  and  was  even  impatient  with 
me  for  mentioning  it.  Geoff  of  course  ad- 
mired her,  he  said  ;  so  did  he  ;  so  did  I ; 
but  he  would  n't  forget  himself  so  far  as  to 
flirt  with  one  of  his  (Murray's)  servants, 
while  he  was  under  that  roof.  So  I  let 
the  matter  drop,  as  far  as  Murray  was 
concerned. 

Geoffrey  sat  for  a  few  minutes  with  us 
after  he  came  in  ;  but  only  a  few,  and  then 
he  went  off  upstairs.  After  I  supposed 
him  to  be  in  bed,  I  knocked  at  his  door. 
He  was  sitting,  dressed,  at  the  window. 

"  May  I  come  and  smoke  with  you  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"I'm  not  smoking,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"  May  I  come  and  sit  then  ?  " 

"If  you  like,"  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

I  sat  down,  at  this  pressing  invitation. 
"  Geoff,"  I  said,  "  I  've  got  something  to 
say  to  you." 

"Well,  keep  it,"  he  retorted  gruffly, 
"  whatever  it  is,  until  I  'm  in  a  better 
mood.  I  'm  as  cross  as  the  Devil  to-night, 
and  bothered  out  of  my  life,  and  I  know 
what  you  are  going  to  say,"  he  said,  with 


90  Alexia. 

a  kind  of  burst,  "if  that  will  save  you 
any  trouble."  His  voice  was  hoarse 
and  hollow. 

"  You  should  n't  sit  at  that  window, 
Geoff,"  I  said,  for  the  fog  was  thick  in  the 
room  ;  "  you  are  hoarse  from  it  now." 
He  didn't  stir.  "Oh,  sit  round  here,  can't 
you  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  "  and  let  me  say  what 
I  must  say,  to  your  face.  You  're  not  a 
fool  nor  a  baby,  Geoff,  and  you  can  bear 
to  hear  the  truth  from  me." 

He  wheeled  round  quickly  enough  at 
these  last  words.  "Oh,"  he  shouted  in 
wrath,  hurling  his  unlighted  cigar  out  of 
the  window,  and  springing  to  his  feet, 
"  is  a  man  never  to  be  free  from  this  eter- 
nal prying  and  sneaking  and  lecturing  ? 
I  tell  you,  Felix,  you  are  making  more 
mischief  with  your  ridiculous  suspicions 
than  you  can  ever  undo  !  I  try  to  help 
a  friendless  child,  who  is  struggling  on 
through  this  beastly  world,  with  every 
blamed  thing  against  her,  and  you,  with 
Laura  at  your  elbow,  start  up  a  sensational 
scare  of  my  trying  to  steal  her  young  affec- 
tions, and  all  that  sort  of  trash.  And  not 
only  that,  but  you  fill  other  people's  heads 


Alexia.  91 

too.  Now  they  are  going  to  shut  the  child 
up,  thanks  to  your  friendly  offices,  and 
make  her  sew  all  day  in  a  stuffy  room,  to 
keep  her  away  from  me.  Oh,  I  have  dis- 
covered your  scheme,"  —  for  I  showed  my 
surprise.  "Of  course  I  remove  myself 
to-morrow,  and  make  her  think  there 's 
a  great  deal  in  it,  when  there's  nothing. 
You  've  come  down  here  to  meddle,  and 
you've  meddled,  and  I  hope  you  are 
pleased  with  yourself.  Only  don't  ask  me 
to  hear  you  preach  about  it." 

"  Well,  if  you  're  going  away  to-morrow, 
that 's  all  I  want,"  I  remarked  coolly.  "  I 
don't  care  what  you  call  me,  nor  what 
brought  you  to  it.  You  know  it 's  your 
plain  duty,  or  you  would  not  be  forced  to 
it  so  easily.  You  know  right  from  wrong 
as  well  as  —  " 

"  Will  you  go  to  bed  ? "  roared  Geoffrey. 
"  I  swear  I  '11  put  you  out  of  this  room,  if 
you  don't  go  yourself !  " 

It  was  not  a  dignified  position.  I  had 
accomplished  my  object,  however,  and 
could  afford  to  sneak  out,  so  long  as  vic- 
tory was  hidden  somewhere  in  the  folds  of 
my  trailing  banner.  Of  course  Geoffrey 


92  Alexia. 

was  angry  with  me.  I  had  surprised  and 
routed  him. 

When  I  was  fairly  outside  the  door,  and 
had  closed  it  behind  me,  it  opened  again  ; 
and  Geoffrey,  coming  after  me,  took  hold 
of  my  arm,  and  dragged  me  in  without  a 
word.  For  a  moment,  I  thought  he  was 
a  lunatic.  It  was  only  that  he  had  been 
one,  and  was  coming  to  his  senses. 

"  I  'm  rough  to-night,  Felix,"  he  apol- 
ogized, as  soon  as  he  had  got  me  well 
inside  the  room,  and  the  door  was  shut, 
"  and  coarse,  —  a  brute  ;  a  beast ;  I  know 
it.  And  a  coward  withal,  because  I  know 
you  will  never  resent  a  word  I  say  to  you. 
But  you  are  all  out  in  this  affair,  and  it 
enrages  me  to  be  wilfully  misinterpreted. 
Now  listen  to  me." 

I  listened ;  that  is  to  say,  I  should  have 
listened,  if  he  had  said  anything.  But  he 
did  n't.  He  did  not  look,  even  then,  like 
an  injured  man,  suffering  from  false  accu- 
sations. He  had  not  that  aspect  of  honest 
indignation  ;  quite  the  reverse.  He  leaned 
against  the  window-frame  in  a  dreary,  de- 
spairing attitude,  with  his  face  turned 
away.  The  stillness  was  deathlike ;  the 


Alexia.  93 

moon  had  gone  behind  a  cloud  ;  a  wet, 
wringing  mist  filled  the  room  ;  it  was  very 
dark,  and  the  air  stifling.  It  would  have 
been  an  excellent  night  for  Lucrezia  Bor- 
gia, and  one  she  would  have  chosen  for 
her  blackest  deed.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  she, 
and  had  chosen  it  for  mine. 

"  Well,  Geoffrey,"  I  said  at  last,  breaking 
the  silence,  for  I  believe  another  second  of 
it  would  have  strangled  me.  Why  should 
he  stand  before  me  mute,  if  the  subject 
was  so  simple,  and  I  so  mistaken  ? 

I  was  puzzled  by  this  curious  dumbness 
on  Geoffrey's  part ;  this  apparent  inability 
to  utter  a  sound.  He  had  once  or  twice 
made  an  effort,  but  words  would  not  come. 
And  fears  more  horrible  than  I  had  ever 
entertained,  and  suspicions  more  sickening 
than  I  had  ever  dared  harbor,  flashed 
through  my  mind  like  swords.  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  them  here  and  now,  Geoffrey 
Trevor  ;  I  knew  in  my  heart  then,  as  I 
have  always  known,  that  crime  and  you 
had  not  one  breath  in  common.  But  run- 
away thoughts  will  trespass,  and  I  had 
driven  the  intruders  out  before  Geoffrey 
found  his  voice. 


94  Alexia. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered  after  at  least  ten 
minutes'  silence,  •"  what  shall  I  say  ? 
What  is  there  for  a  doomed  man  to  say  ? 
I  am  fettered  ;  what  I  long  to  do,  I  cannot 
do  ;  and  what  I  loathe  to  do,  I  must  do. 
Of  course  I  have  known,  ever  since  Helen 
left  me  to  my  gloomy  thoughts, — for  I 
told  her  how  afraid  I  was  of  them,  and 
begged  her  not  to  go, — that  that  venture 
was  worse  than  vain,  and  that  she  cares 
nothing  for  me.  I  deserve  it,  I  know. 
I  have  given  little ;  I  should  have  ex- 
pected little,  or  nothing,  in  return.  I 
know  I  ought  to  suffer,  and  I  can  suffer. 
I  should  have  gone  with  Helen  this  sum- 
mer ;  I  shall  never  leave  her  again.  I 
have  had  wild  dreams  of  being  free  from 
her,  God  forgive  me !  But  now  that 
she  is  in  trouble  and  loneliness,  poor 
girl,  I  am  more  than  ever  bound  to  her. 
But  —  but  —  "  He  stopped  and  caught 
his  breath. 

"  But  what,  Geoffrey  ?  "  I  asked  anx- 
iously. I  really  did  n't  know.  Had  Alice 
confessed  her  unhappy  love  for  him  that 
evening  ?  Had  he  just  found  out  the  ex- 
tent of  the  harm  he  had  wrought  her  ?  I 


Alcxia.  95 

asked  him,  framing  the  question  so  as  to 
make  it  as  gentle  as  I  could. 

"No,  no!"  he  fairly  howled.  "No, 
no!  She  has  said  nothing —  But  /, 
Felix,  I  —  " 

I  knew  it  now.  "  But  you  have  found, 
Geoffrey,  now  it  is  too  late,  that  you  love 
Jier — that  you  cannot  give  her  up.  Is 
that  it  ? " 

He  clutched  at  the  curtain,  and  trem- 
bled like  a  hunted  animal.  I  could  hardly 
hear  his  answer.  "  It  is.  O  God !  It 
is."  And  a  groan  broke  from  him. 

Poor  old  Geoffrey !  He  had  been  de- 
ceiving himself  with  a  vengeance  !  And 
love  with  him,  now  that  it  had  really  come, 
was  a  frenzy.  And  he  had  only  just  found 
it  out  himself! 

"  Poor  old  fellow  ! "  I  said  soothingly, 
and  I  patted  him  on  the  back  like  a  dog. 
"  Poor  dear  old  Geoff !  Let 's  think  what 
can  be  done." 

"  Done  !  "  he  called  out  savagely,  — 
"  done  !  What  have  I  '  done  '  already  ? 
Spoiled  the  lives  of  two  women,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  this  curse  of  hell  I  call  my  own ! 
That  was  born  blasted,  so  I  could  n't  have 


96  Alexia. 

injured  that.  Spoiled  the  lives  of  two 
women,"  he  repeated,  "  the  one  's  for  time, 
the  other  's  for  eternity.  The  damage  to 
Helen  can  be  repaired  by  matrimony,"  he 
sneered,  "  but  the  pain  I  have  caused  that 
precious  heart,  God  love  it !  over  there," 
and  he  pointed  to  the  shadows  of  the 
sleeping  town,  sombre  and  sad  in  the 
veiled  moonlight  and  the  mist,  "can  never, 
never  be  assuaged.  I  swear  to  you,  Felix, 
that  I  never  knew  it,  never  dreamed  it, 
till  to-night.  I  told  her  I  must  go  away  ; 
six  words  brought  tears,  and  I  could  not 
say  the  seventh. 

"  I  knelt  beside  her  in  the  chapel  to- 
night ;  I,  the  black  reprobate,  touching 
the  hem  of  her  gown !  And  she,  the 
purest  and  sweetest  of  angels,  radiant  in 
her  own  dazzling  beauty,  and  shining  with 
goodness  beside,  with  the  candle-light  giv- 
ing her  unearthly  brilliancy,  and  the  in- 
cense perfuming  her  gleaming  hair,  —  she, 
rapt  in  visions  of  heaven,  prayed  for  me, 
ugly,  unredeemed  villain  that  I  always 
must  remain  ;  prayed  that  I  might  be 
happy  and  rich  and  beloved,  and  that  I 
might  find  God  !  This  she  told  me  after- 


Alexia.  97 

ward  ;  but  strange  to  say,  at  the  moment 
she  must  have  been  praying  for  me,  it  — 
the  knowledge  of  this  mighty  love  —  came 
over  me,  all  at  once,  like  an  avalanche. 
Then  I  knew  that  my  hopes  —  hopes  I 
did  not  dream  I  cherished  —  were  in  the 
dust ;  my  heart  was  cut  into  a  thousand 
bits  !  I  have  never  thought  of  love,  I  find, 
far  less  known  it,  until  now  ;  not  a  glim- 
mer has  ever  brightened  me  ;  not  a  breath 
stirred  me." 

For  such  agony  I  had  no  word.  Only, 
my  hopes  were  in  the  dust,  with  his  ;  my 
heart  was  cut  into  a  thousand  bits  too. 
Oh  to  have  borne  it  all  for  him ! 

"  Felix,"  he  said,  coming  toward  me, 
and  speaking  in  a  solemn  whisper,  "  once  I 
was  watching  with  my  father,  who  was  very 
ill.  We  had  had  a  long  dreary  time  of  it,  — 
nights  upon  nights,  nights  upon  nights, — 
waiting  for  him  to  come  to  conscious- 
ness ;  to  speak  to  us.  This  night  I  speak 
of  had  been  as  long  as  the  rest  of  my  life 
put  together,  it  seemed  ;  and  while  I  was 
wondering  if  it  would  ever  end,  and,  jaded, 
unrefreshed,  was  thinking  how  dreary  and 
how  long  life  was,  one  of  the  nurses  went 
7 


98  Alexia. 

to  the  window,  and  gently  opened  a  shut- 
ter. It  was  dawn  at  last;  and  the  cool, 
sweet  morning  air  stole  in,  and  fanned 
and  revived  me  ;  and  although  it  did  not 
cure  my  pain,  I  slept.  That  is  how  this 
dear  minister  of  grace,  this  angel,  came  to 
me,  —  like  the  pure,  fresh  morning  air, — 
after,  not  nights,  but  years,  of  weariness 
of  soul.  And  I,  although  I  had  no  right 
to  the  refreshment,  have  slept  ;  and  have 
let  her  soothe  and  lull  me.  The  awaken- 
ing has  come,  however,  and  the  old  trouble 
is  pressing  harder  than  before.  But  as 
the  air  becomes  vitiated  upon  entering  the 
sick-room,  so  I  have  tainted  her.  For 
although  I  will  die  before  she  shall  dream 
I  suspect  it,  she  loves  me,  Felix." 

Of  course  she  did.  "  Does  she  know 
why  you  leave  her  ?  "  I  asked,  as  gently 
as  I  could.  I  hated  to  catechise  him  now. 

"  No.  I  began  to  tell  her  ;  I  mean  I 
said  I  must  go  away,  and  she  sobbed.  I 
heard  her.  Then,  coward  that  I  am, 
I  dared  not  inflict  another  wound.  I  have 
tried  a  thousand  times  to  tell  her  of  my 
engagement  to  Helen,  but  I  knew  she 
would  not  understand ;  and  I  thought  it 


Alexia,  99 

might  make  a  barrier  between  us  ;  I  mean 
to  our  pleasant  intercourse.  To-night  I 
had  a  mad  hope  that  I  might  break  it  off  ; 
the  other,  I  mean.  But  now  that  I  am 
away  from  Al  —  her — I  see  that  it  can- 
not be." 

It  was  not  an  opportune  moment  for 
that,  I  admitted.  He  might,  to  be  sure, 
tell  Alice  that  he  was  going  to  end  his 
engagement  with  Helen  as  soon  as  her 
grief  had  subsided  sufficiently  for  him  to 
do  so  with  decency !  But  that  would 
hardly  pave  the  way  for  future  success 
with  Alice.  It  was  a  bad  business,  and  I 
told  him  so.  But  he  must  be  helped 
through  it,  no  matter  whose  fault  it  was. 
And  we  would  put  our  shoulders  to  the 
wheel  in  dead  earnest !  We  could  work 
together,  now  that  he  had  given  me  his 
confidence. 

It  was  such  a  relief  to  Geoffrey  to  throw 
off  the  mask,  that  he  fairly  revelled  —  if 
anything  so  grim  can  be  called  a  revel  — 
in  self-reproaches,  and  hurled  them  at 
himself  perpetually.  He  called  himself 
every  kind  of  hard  name.  "  That  I,"  he 
groaned,  "/,  who  long  to  carry  her  in  my 


ioo  Alexia. 

arms,  and  save  her  from  the  grind  of  life, 
and  tend  her,  like  the  lamb  she  is,  should 
have  done  my  best  —  my  worst  —  to  ruin 
her !  " 

"  Oh  no,  dear  Geoff,"  I  said,  "  it 's  not 
as  bad  as  that."  And  yet  I  knew  it  was. 

"  It 's  as  bad  as  that,  and  worse  than 
that.  If  she  had  ever  seen  a  man  —  any- 
thing other  than  those  working  fellows  over 
there,  I  mean  —  I  should  have  stood  no 
chance  with  her.  But  I  have  deliberately 
set  to  work  to  make  myself  necessary  to 
her,  only  to  desert  her.  The  biggest  ruf- 
fian in  the  world  is  a  gentleman  to  me." 

It  was  characteristic  •  of  Geoffrey  that 
having  vaulted  to  one  extreme,  in  announc- 
ing himself  innocent,  and  perhaps  thinking 
himself  so,  he  now  plunged  to  the  other, 
in  declaring  himself  guilty  of  more  than 
he  had  really  done. 

"  You  did  not  go  into  it  deliberately, 
Geoff,"  I  said  ;  "  why  do  you  say  that  ? 
Your  first  idea  was  simply  that  of  be- 
friending a  poor  girl,  was  it  not  ? " 

"Oh,  of  course  I  'didn't  mean  it'  at  first; 
but  that  does  n't  improve  matters  a  bit. 
I  saw  how  beautiful  and  uncommon  she 


Alexia.  101 

was  at  one  glance,  and  how  utterly  out  of 
keeping  with  her  surroundings.  But  I  did 
know,  if  I  knew  anything,  that  a  man  like 
me  could  n't  better  a  girl  like  her,  by  hang- 
ing about  her  all  day  trying  to  make  her 
discontented ;  for  that 's  the  size  of  it. 
She  is  so  much  stronger  than  I,  however, 
that  it  is  she  who  has  made  me  hate  my 
vacuous  existence.  O  Felix,"  he  groaned, 
"  there  's  only  one  way  of  looking  at  this 
thing.  If  she  had  any  man  to  stand  up  for 
her,  I  should  be  horse-whipped  to-morrow, 
and  serve  me  right.  Even  now,  selfish 
brute  that  I  am,  I  believe  it  is  my  own 
loss  I  am  whining  about,  more  than  her 
humiliation." 

"  She  is  very  young,  only  a  child,"  I  sug- 
gested, by  way  of  a  crumb  of  cold  comfort ; 
"  she  will  get  over  it." 

"  I  doubt  it ;  she 's  so  different  from 
everybody  else,  so  situated  that  she  will 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  think.  She  is 
womanly,  too  ;  royal  in  unselfishness,  and 
I  know  she  will  be  royal  in  suffering." 
He  drew  a  long  breath,  ending  in  a  sigh. 
"  Good-night,  Felix." 

He  was  shivering  from  head  to  foot.    "  I 


IO2  Alexia. 

am  not  going  to  leave  you  to-night,  Geoff. 
I  could  n't  sleep  —  and  what  are  chums 
for  ?  Shut  that  window,  and  let 's  light 
a  fire.  That  beastly  fog  has  penetrated 
everything." 

"  What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  Felix!" 
exclaimed  Geoffrey,  watching  me  kindle 
the  fire.  "  How  little  I  consider  you ! 
What  do  I  know  of  your  troubles  ?  It  is 
enough  for  me  that  I  wear  you  out  with 
mine,  —  you  who  work  early  and  late,  and 
I  who  dawdle  away  an  empty  life." 

"  None  of  that  now,  Geoff  Trevor,"  I 
burst  forth.  "  As  if  I  did  n't  know  of  all 
your  substantial  kindnesses  to  my  mother 
and  sisters.  You  have  been  more  to  them 
and  to  me  than  any  man  living ;  and  if 
there  were  only  gratitude  to  prompt,  I 
should  be  in  your  debt  forever." 

"Don't!"  said  Geoffrey.  "For  God's 
sake,  don't !  "  He  sat  up  near,  almost  in, 
the  fire,  for  his  teeth  were  chattering,  and 
shivers  ran  over  him.  His  elbows  were 
on  his  knees,  and  his  head  in  his  hands. 
We  talked  no  more ;  but  sat  there,  Geof- 
frey occasionally  moaning,  or  changing  his 
position,  until  the  day  broke,  —  another 


Alexia.  103 

drizzling  morning,  but  cold  and  raw,  and 
devoid  of  beauty,  this  time.  The  fog-sea- 
son had  begun,  —  the  bane  of  that  coast. 
Geoffrey,  looking  like  a  ghost,  went  up 
with  me  in  the  train,  to  make  some  ar- 
rangements for  Helen's  coming.  He  in- 
tended to  go  down  at  night,  see  Alice  for 
the  last  time,  and  abase  himself  "  as  low  as 
he  could  crawl,"  before  her,  he  said.  But 
he  had  taken  a  violent  cold  ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  a  message  came  for  me  to  go  to 
him  at  the  Club.  I  found  him  in  bed  suf- 
fering horribly  with  rheumatism,  to  which 
he  was  subject. 

He  was  so  nervous  that  he  made  himself 
much  worse.  Would  I  go  right  down  to 
Quartz,  he  begged,  see  Alice,  and  tell  her 
that  he  was  a  trifle  under  the  weather,  and 
would  n't  be  down  for  a  day  or  two  ? 

"  Not  unless  I  can  tell  her  more,"  I  re- 
plied. "  To  go  down  with  a  little  tempo- 
rizing message  like  that  would  be  only  to 
make  matters  worse.  I  am  not  asked  to 
Murray's  house,  so  I  should  have  to  go 
down  on  purpose  to  see  Alice,  and  it  would 
be  very  pointed,  and  make  the  deception 
more  lingering  and  cruel.  I  would  write 


IO4  Alexia. 

her  a  note,  though,  so  that  she  might 
not  be  in  too  great  suspense,"  I  told 
him. 

"  At  my  dictation,  then.  '  My  dear 
Alexia/  "  he  began,  —  " '  My  dear  Alexia  : 
my —  Well,  I've  got  that  half-a-dozen 
times.  '  My  dear  Alexia  :  I  have  a  touch 
of  rheumatism,  and  cannot  walk,  so  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  go  down  to  Quartz  to-night 
to  talk  to  you  about  — ' ' 

"  No,  I  would  n't  say  that,  Geoff." 

"  Well,  what  would  you  say,  then  ?  '  Go 
down  to-night  to  correct  your  German  ex- 
ercise with  you  —  '  " 

"  No,  Geoff,  that 's  worse." 

"  '  Go  down  to-night  as  I  had  promised, 
no  —  hoped,  no  —  intended  to  do.  But  I 
shall  see  you  again  in  a  day  or  two.' " 

I  laid  down  the  pen.  "  That 's  awful !  " 
It  made  a  kind  of  rheumatic  rhyme. 

"  O  Heaven !  "  groaned  Geoffrey,  with 
a  twinge  of  conscience,  or  rheumatism,  I 
don't  know  which.  "  Write  it  yourself, 
won't  you  ?" 

So  I  worded  a  careful  note,  saying  that 
he  wished  to  see  her,  and  would  be  down 
as  soon  as  he  was  well  enoucrh.  The  ex- 


Alexia.  105 

pressman  on  the  train  promised  to  deliver 
it  that  evening.  I  pressed  it  into  his  hand, 
with  solemn  injunctions,  and  a  sum  of 
money,  myself.  Geoffrey  would  n't  trust 
Murray  either  to  give  it  to  Alice,  or  to 
keep  it  to  himself,  he  said. 

The  attack  lasted  four  or  five  days;  but 
on  Saturday,  so  weak  he  could  hardly 
stand,  and  so  lame  he  could  hardly  walk, 
Geoffrey  went  down  to  Quartz.  He  must 
go,  if  it  killed  him,  he  said.  It  was  his 
last  chance :  there  were  no  Sunday  trains  ; 
and  on  Monday  Helen  would  arrive. 

The  situation  was  not  altogether  jovial,— 
Helen  on  her  way  home  with  her  dead 
mother ;  Alice  waiting  for  a  mortal  blow  ; 
Geoffrey,  staggering  with  sickness  and 
shame,  starting  to  inflict  the  wound,  and 
a  worse  one  to  himself  at  the  same  time. 


io6  Alexia. 


VII. 

LAURA  TREVOR  had  carried  out 
her  plan  of  providing  means  to  keep 
Alice  in-doors,  and  a  pile  of  unneeded 
garments  had  been  hastily  shaped  for  the 
purpose.  Geoffrey,  to  be  sure,  had  not 
appeared,  but  he  might  at  any  moment. 
Laura  had  not  heard  that  he  was  disquali- 
fied for  mischief  just  then,  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  she  laid  his  absence  to  fickleness  or 
forgetfulness,  and  rather  resented  it. 

Poor  Alice  had  a  hard  three  days  of  it, 
and  then  rebelled.  "  I  can  earn  more 
money  by  rowing,  dear  Sister,"  she  said 
beseechingly,  "  and  sewing  so  much  gives 
me  a  perfectly  awful  headache  ! "  This  to 
the  apparently  implacable  Ignatia. 

"  But  the  work  must  be  done,  my  child," 
urged  Ignatia,  who  was  not  really  severe 
at  all ;  "  and  it  is  not  only  foolish,  but 
wicked,  to  leave  it  half  done." 


Alexia.  107 

"  Then  I  '11  pick  it  out,"  retorted  Alice, 
with  defiance  in  her  eye,  "  and  it  won't  be 
half  done." 

Sister  Ignatia  gave  Alice  a  reproachful 
look,  and  Alice  thereupon  hugged  her. 

Early  next  morning  the  green  dory  was 
out,  and  the  young  victor  in  her  red  cap 
and  handkerchief  pulling  for  dear  life,  re- 
joicing in  her  liberty  like  a  bird  set  free. 

But  her  liberty  was  all  she  rejoiced  in, 
poor  child  !  and  she  was  terribly  unhappy. 
She  worried  vaguely  about  Geoffrey,  whom 
she  also  missed  every  moment.  He  had 
been  queer  and  dismal  Sunday  night,  and 
had  told  her  that  he  was  going  away.  She 
had  been  so  surprised  and  so  shocked 
that  she  had  cried  ;  and  then  he  had  com- 
forted her,  and  said  he  was  not  going 
yet.  The  next  day  she  had  had  a  note 
in  another  handwriting  saying  that  he 
was  ill. 

Of  course,  she  said  to  herself,  he  had 
been  told,  as  she  had  been  that  Sunday, 
that  it  was  wrong  for  them  to  be  so  much 
together ;  and  for  her  sake  —  to  save  her 
trouble  — he  was  going  away.  How  noble, 
how  generous,  of  him  ! 


io8  Alexia. 

She  waited,  to  let  herself  be  hopelessly 
miserable,  until  after  the  explanation  he 
had  promised  her.  It  was  four  days  now, 
and  he  had  not  come.  She  found  herself 
looking  over  her  shoulder  every  moment, 
and  a  man's  footstep  behind  her  made 
her  heart  bound.  But  disappointments 
were  so  frequent  that  by  and  by  she  began 
to  be  discouraged.  It  seemed  a  year  since 
Sunday.  The  grass  seemed  to  fade;  it 
was  n't  green  any  more,  and  there  was  less 
of  it ;  the  water  was  no  longer  blue  nor 
sparkling ;  or  if  it  was  blue,  and  sparkled 
so  aggressively  that  she  could  n't  help 
noticing  it,  it  made  her  feel  worse  than 
ever. 

The  sunsets  gave  her  no  joy,  and  she 
was  sick  of  life.  She  was  ashamed  of  her- 
self for  not  having  more  heroism  and  more 
faith,  but  she  could  n't  help  it.  Sister  Ig- 
natia  was  her  great  comfort.  Her  head 
was  in  the  Sister's  lap  every  night,  and  the 
Sister  pretending  not  to  see  the  tears.  One 
night  she  had  to  speak. 

"  Sister,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arms 
about  the  little  woman's  neck  in  one  of 
those  wild,  childish  caresses  which  the  Sis- 


Alexia.  109 

ter  hardly  dared  own  were  precious  to  her, 
and  for  the  enjoyment  of  which  she  prayed 
daily  for  forgiveness,  "  I  was  born  to  sad- 
ness. I  hope  I  shall  learn  to  bear  it 
better." 

"  You  were  born  to  heavenly  joys,"  an- 
swered the  Sister,  softly,  stroking  Alice's 
hair.  "  You  are  happy  in  the  promise  of 
them,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  hiding  her  head  in 
the  folds  of  her  protector's  dress,  "  I  hope 
I  am.  But  not  like  you,  darling.  I  am 
afraid  I  like  earthly  joys  best."  The 
Sister  shuddered.  "  You  know  for  years 
I  fought  against  that  wicked  hatred  of 
my  father,  because  he  was  a  bad  man, 
and  because  he  deserted  me.  That  has 
gone  entirely,  and  now  I  have  another 
enemy." 

"  Who  is  that,  Alexia  ?  " 

"  You  mean  what  is  it,  dear.  It  is 
something  else  in  me.  Oh,  why,  why  is  it 
wrong,"  she  burst  forth,  sitting  up  now 
with  hair  all  tumbled  about,  and  eyes 
bright  and  wild,  "  to  love  men  ;  to  watch 
for  them,  and  long  for  them,  when  they 
don't  come,  and  to  worry  when  they  are 


no  Alexia. 

sick  ?  "  Her  supposititious  case  was  naively 
put. 

"  It  will  not  be  wrong  for  you,  my  child, 
to  love  a  man,  when  the  proper  time 
comes,  and  to  marry  him." 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Alice.  "  I  don't  wish 
to  marry.  Yet  I  love,"  she  murmured, 
hiding  her  face  again. 

"  Hush  !  "  exclaimed  Sister  Ignatia,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  Alice's  lips,  and  looking 
greatly  shocked.  "  You  don't  know  what 
you  say.  I  had  hoped,  Alexia,  that  with 
your  serious  thoughts,  and  your  veneration 
for  the  religious  life,  you  might  one  day 
feel  it  to  be  your  vocation.  But  if  it  please 
God  to  send  you  a  husband  —  " 

It  was  Alice's  turn  now  to  hush  the 
Sister.  "  Oh,  don't,"  she  cried  ;  "  I  hate 
that  horrid  word  husband,  for  I  can  never 
marry,  never,  never  !  Yet  I  love,"  she  re- 
peated, slowly  this  time,  and  as  if  she  were 
no  longer  ashamed  of  it. 

"  Those  are  wicked  words,"  exclaimed 
Sister  Ignatia,  fairly  roused,  and  trying  to 
push  Alice  away. 

But  Alice  held  her  down.  "  Hear  me," 
she  begged,  "  only  hear  me  !  " 


Alexia.  1 1 1 

"  Never,"  struggled  the  irate  Ignatia, 
"  while  you  speak  that  which  your 
lips  should  never  utter,  nor  my  ears 
hear." 

Alice  smiled  a  sad,  weary  smile.  "  I 
shall  not  be  asked  to  marry,"  she  said, 
with  proud  pathos.  "  I  am  unworthy  of 
the  man  I  love.  He  could  not  love  me. 
He  is  a  nobleman,  —  rich,  good,  and  hand- 
some. What  am  I  ?  I  don't  even  know 
what  I  am  [Sister  Ignatia  had  never  seen 
a  trace  of  bitterness  in  the  girl  before], 
—  the  daughter  of  a  criminal  —  perhaps 
of  two  ;  I  am  a  miserable,  low-born  "  — 
she  hesitated  for  a  word  — "  thing"  she 
added  at  last,  with  scornful  emphasis  ;  "  if 
it  had  not  been  for  you,  I  should  be 
digging  worms  at  this  minute,  or  mend- 
ing tackle.  Perhaps  I  should  be  in 
prison."  % 

The  woman  was  still  pinioned  by  the 
girl's  arms.  "  I  have  been  blind,"  she 
cried,  "  and  very,  very  wrong ;  I  should 
have  foreseen,  prevented  this.  You  may 
talk  of  noblemen,  Alexia ;  but  there  is 
nothing  noble  in  a  man  who  comes  day 
after  day,  and  lures  a  sweet,  innocent  girl 


H2  Alexia. 

on  to  love  him,  when  he  cannot  love 
her." 

"  No ! "  cried  the  girl,  springing  to  her 
feet,  her  eyes  flashing  flame.  "  I  forbid 
you  to  say  it !  He  has  done  nothing 
wrong.  I  have  known  from  the  first  that 
he  ruled  my  heart,  and  that  I  never  could 
rule  his.  It  has  been  my  sin  alone,  all 
mine.  And  I  have  been  absolved  a  hun- 
dred times,  only  to  sin  again.  I  love  him," 
she  burst  forth  again,  with  twitching  lips 
and  a  broken  voice.  "  I  love  him,  in  de- 
spair, in  torment,  but  /  love  him  !  "  She 
threw  herself  upon  the  hard  floor,  and 
sobbed  and  moaned.  After  all,  Alexia 
was  only  a  child,  and  this  would  do  her 
good.  It  was  the  best  symptom  she  had 
seen,  the  Sister  said.  She  was  very  young 
to  be  in  such  trouble,  and  it  was  a  mercy 
she  could  cry  likp  that. 

On  Friday  Alice  got  another  little  note, 
in  Geoffrey's  own  handwriting  this  time. 
It  was  an  off-hand  effusion,  penned  with 
great  labor !  It  remarked  that  the  time 
had  been  long  since  he  had  seen  her,  that 
he  hoped  she  had  enjoyed  the  lovely  days, 
and  had  slept  through  the  lovely  nights,  — 


Alexia.  113 

or  words  to  that  effect.  "  I  shall  be  down 
on  Saturday,"  it  ended  (Alice's  heart 
thumped  her  nearly  out  of  the  boat !)  ;  "  so 
be  at  Blynn's  at  four,  with  the  green 
dory." 

She  read  the  note  over  every  few  min- 
utes during  that  day  and  the  next,  and 
kissed  it,  and  cried  on  it,  and  smiled  at  it, 
and  talked  to  it.  Life  would  be  over  after 
to-morrow,  for  of  course  there  was  to  be  a 
parting  ;  but  she  could  crowd  whole  years 
of  happiness  into  one  hour,  and  live  for- 
ever on  the  memory  of  it. 

On  Saturday  at  three  o'clock  (it  was 
just  two  minutes'  walk  to  the  wharf,  and 
Geoffrey  was  expected  at  four)  Alice,  so 
excited  that  she  could  n't  stay  in  the 
house,  took  her  tam-o'-shanter,  and  started 
out. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  inquired  Sis- 
ter Ignatia.  Alice  had  not  told  her  of  the 
note  ;  she  was  desperately  afraid  of  be- 
ing kept  away  from  Geoffrey.  Something 
in  Alice's  manner  had  aroused  Ignatia's 
suspicion. 

"  To  Blynn's,"  she  said,  reddening  furi- 
ously, "  to  meet  Mr.  Geoffrey  Trevor." 
8 


H4  Alexia. 

"  I  forbid  it ! "  said  the  Sister,  calmly, 
withdrawing  to  avoid  argument.  Alice 
did  not  quite  dare  disobey,  and  frantic 
with  disappointment,  she  rushed  to  her 
room,  feeling  that  the  end  of  days  had 
come  for  her. 


Alexia.  115 


VIII. 

SO  Geoffrey,  in  a  flutter  of  emotions,  — 
joy,  grief,  and  gout,  —  went  down  to 
Quartz,  —  for  the  last  time,  he  said  to  him- 
self repeatedly ;  everything  he  did  now 
was  for  the  last  time.  But  he  would  think 
only  of  beholding  that  incomparable  loveli- 
ness once  more,  and  not  of  losing  sight  of 
it.  Let  every  minute  take  care  of  itself. 
He  might  not  live  to  get  away  from  her. 
He  was  a  miserable  object,  this  same 
Geoffrey,  when  he  found  no  Alice  at  the 
wharf.  Such  a  contingency  had  not  oc- 
curred to  him,  and  for  a  moment  every- 
thing was  black,  and  swam  before  his  eyes. 
Old  Iron  was  shuffling  about,  and  he  asked 
him  where  Alice  was. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  snapped  the  old  man, 
querulously,  and  in  an  injured  tone. 
"  Them  Sisters  has  kep'  her  nearly  the 
hull  o"  this  blessed  week.  I  aint  skurcely 
seed  'er.  They's  sing'lar  doin's  a-goin'  on, 


n  6  Alexia. 

an'  I  aint  got  nothin'  to  do  with  'em. 
Sister  Ignatia  says  to  me,  she  says,  '  Elixir 
is  a-goin'  to  be  with  us  this  week,'  she 
says,  'for  sewin'  an'  offices ; '  offices  is 
prayers,  sir"  (seeing  Geoffrey's  puzzled 
expression).  "  Alice  she  comes  home,  wal, 
she  comes  home  oncet  or  twicet  a  day, 
but  is  off  agin  in  one  minute.  I  would  n't 
'a'  let  'em  had  'er,  to  eddicate  'er,  ef  I  'd 
'a'  knowed  they  was  a-goin'  to  keep  'er 
like  this.  Don't  ask  me  where  she  is.  I 
don't  know  nothin'  about  her." 

This  last  was  evidently  a  formula  ;  but 
long  before  the  old  man  had  arrived  at 
that,  Geoffrey  was  limping  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Sisters'  abode. 

Alice  saw  him  coming,  and  ran  down  to 
the  door  to  meet  him.  They  stood  looking 
at  each  other,  both  hearts  beating  like 
hammers. 

Alice  was  more  radiantly  exquisite  than 
ever,  he  thought ;  once  or  twice,  during  the 
week,  he  had  lost  sight  of  her  face  com- 
pletely ;  it  is  often  so  with  those  we  love. 
Oh,  how  beautiful  she  was,  and  how  true, 
and  what  a  joy  it  was  to  look  upon  her 
dear  face  again ! 


Alexia.  1 1 7 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  Alexia,  and  come  out 
for  a  row,"  he  said.  Somehow  it  seemed 
unnatural  for  them  to  be  out  of  a  boat. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Alice. 

"  Can't  ?  Why  not  ?  Are  you  a 
prisoner  ? " 

A  tall  thin  Sister,  Dorothea,  —  the  one 
Geoffrey  had  never  seen,  —  came  to  the 
door,  hearing  a  man's  voice.  She  bowed 
gravely  to  Geoffrey,  and  standing  as  if  to 
receive  any  message  he  might  have  to 
impart,  told  Alice  to  go  in. 

"  Oh,  but  I  came  to  see  her,"  said 
Geoffrey,  making  a  pathetic  attempt  at 
being  jovial,  "  and  I  have  asked  her  to  go 
out  with  me.  I  have  something  of  impor- 
tance to  say  to  her." 

"  Can  the  business  not  be  transacted 
here?"  asked  Sister  Dorothea.  She  was 
severe  to  men  on  general  principles  only, 
and  did  not  know  the  horror  with  which 
this  particular  one  should  be  regarded. 

"  Not  very  well,"  returned  Geoffrey,  smil- 
ing. He  was  not  pleased,  all  the  same  ; 
in  fact,  he  was  very  much  annoyed.  Sup- 
ptose  she  should  insist  upon  knowing  what 
the  business  was  !  A  nice  thing  it  would 


iiS  Alexia. 

be  to  tell,  that  he  had  come  down  to  stab 
Alice  to  the  heart ;  and  a  fine  chance  of 
seeing  her  alone  it  would  afford  him ! 

He  felt  his  strength,  too,  which  was 
purely  nervous,  leaving  him  rapidly.  What 
if  he  should  become  suddenly  helpless,  as 
he  had  done  last  Monday !  He  leaned 
heavily  upon  his  stick,  as  he  tried  to  think 
up  a  stratagem  by  which  he  might  gain 
Alice's  ear  privately. 

"  I  will  row  you  over,"  broke  in  Alice, 
boldly.  "  You  look  very  ill."  And  she 
started  off  at  once,  Geoffrey  following, 
and  blessing  her  for  her  stroke.  She 
did  n't  wait  to  get  her  cap,  for  fear  of  more 
obstacles. 

So  they  were  together  again.  Instead 
of  going  to  the  pier,  where  interruptions 
and  encounters  would  be  sure  to  await 
them,  they  strolled  in  the  direction  of  the 
Head.  Geoffrey  hardly  dared  look  at  the 
sweet,  precious  thing  beside  him.  He 
knew  how  she  must  be  looking.  Every 
glance  he  had  ever  given  her  had  found 
her  lovelier  ;  had  disclosed  new  delights. 
Her  beauty  pervaded  the  air ;  he  felt  it 
all  about  him.  So  far  from  enjoying 


Alexia.  119 

these  precious  moments,  however,  every 
one  gave  a  keener  pain  ;  it  was  one  nearer 
the  last, —  O  God  !  the  end. 

When  they  were  beyond  the  houses,  he 
spoke.  "  Alexia,"  he  said  gently,  —  the 
name  even  was  peculiar  to  her ;  no  one 
else  bore  it,  —  "  Alexia."  She  turned  her 
face  to  him,  ablaze  with  excitement  and 
gladness.  Oh,  was  ever  anything  harder 
than  this  ?  "  I  am  here,"  she  said  en- 
couragingly. She  thought  she  knew  what 
troubled  him  ;  and  she  would  make  it  as 
easy  as  she  could.  He  had  not  been  to 
blame. 

"  Alexia,"  he  began  again,  —  to  plan  a 
"  clean  breast "  is  one  thing  ;  to  make  it 
so  different !  —  "I  have  done  a  very  wick- 
ed thing  ;  several  wicked  things.  May  I 
make  my  confession  to  you?" 

Alice  turned  pale.  "  No,"  she  said, 
casting  her  eyes  down,  and  speaking  in 
a  low  tone  ;  "  make  it  to  God." 

"  There  is  more  chance  of  forgiveness 
there,  perhaps,"  he  answered  bitterly.  "But 
I  have  an  explanation  to  make  to  you, 
Alexia,  and  I  must  make  it  now.  Shall 
we  sit  down  ?  " 


I2O  Alexia. 

How  lame  he  was  !  how  pale  !  how  thin  ! 
He  must  have  suffered  terribly,  Alice 
thought.  They  sat  down  on  a  large  rock, 
overlooking  the  bay  and  the  coast  and  the 
harbor.  It  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  although 
there  was  a  thick  gray  bank  of  fog  creep- 
ing in  from  outside ;  horribly  lovely,  it 
seemed  to  Geoffrey.  Every  breath  of  the 
fresh  salt  air,  instead  of  giving  him  life,  as  it 
used  to  do,  gave  him  death.  Nothing  ever 
was  so  beautiful  as  this  that  he  was  giving 
up, — this  jewel  in  its  setting.  Yet  how 
could  he  give  up  what  he  never  had,  and 
never  could  have  had  ?  But  the  possibility 
of  possession  had  occurred  to  him,  and  that 
is  nine  points  of  the  law  to  some  men. 

Alice  wore  now  a  bewildered,  anxious  air. 
It  was  different  from  what  she  thought  it 
was  going  to  be.  An  hour  of  present,  with 
a  month  of  past  and  a  possible  half-century 
of  future  attached  to  it,  never  can  give  pure 
joy.  Only  babies,  fools,  and  philosophers 
can  separate  one  hour  from  the  tangle  of 
life,  and  live  in  it.  Alice  realized  that  fact 
unconsciously  and  vaguely  then. 

She  could  not  believe  that  Geoffrey  had 
committed  any  crime.  If  he  meant  de- 


Alexia.  121 

ceiving  her,  she  could  quickly  set  his  mind 
at  rest  on  that  point.  He  had  not  de- 
ceived her ;  because  from  the  first,  as  she 
had  told  Sister  Ignatia,  she  had  known  per- 
fectly that  gentlemen  like  him  did  not  love 
girls  like  her;  they  couldn't;  they  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing;  they  just  liked 
them,  and  were  very  kind  to  them.  Hers 
was  the  crime,  if  you  like,  for  letting  her- 
self go  on  loving  him,  when  she  knew  all 
the  time  how  worse  than  vain  it  was.  She 
only  waited  now  for  an  opportunity  to  say 
this  to  him,  and  to  lift  the  load,  if  it  was 
that  which  troubled  him.  Why  did  he  not 
speak  and  let  her  do  it  ? 

Great  drops  were  standing  on  Geoffrey's 
forehead.  It  was  with  difficulty  he  spoke 
at  all.  He  had  rehearsed  nothing  coming 
down,  except  that  he  would  tell  her  of  his 
love  for  her,  as  a  guaranty  of  good  faith, 
that  she  might  know  how  desperately  in 
earnest  he  had  been,  how  far  from  trifling 
with  her.  The  confession  would  condemn 
his  head,  but  not  his  heart,  which  was 
hers  ;  and  this  was  the  second  part  of  his 
programme,  —  that  he  would  refuse  to  see, 
would  ignore  utterly,  the  fact  that  she 


122  Alexia. 

loved  him.  If  she  had  a  secret  of  her 
own  she  should  keep  it,  and  his  too.  He 
would  not  spare  himself,  but  he  would 
shield  her. 

He  plunged  in  at  last.  "Alexia,"  he 
said  again,  "  I  had  never  loved  a  woman  in 
my  life  when  I  asked  one  to  marry  me  a 
few  months  ago." 

It  was  badly  worded,  and  she  misunder- 
stood him.  "  You  mean  until  you  asked 
her  to  marry  you  ? "  she  said  softly.  It 
was  an  awful  blow,  but  she  bore  it  well. 

"No,  I  mean  when  —  at  the  time  —  I 
asked  her,  and  after — and  until  —  now,"  he 
gasped,  afraid  of  frightening  her  away  if  he 
said  too  much. 

But  she  was  perplexed  again.  "  I  don't 
think  I  understand  you,"  she  said.  "  'The 
wicked  thing'  you  mean  was  asking  her  to 
—  marry  you,  when  you  did  n't  love  her  ? " 

"  That  was  one,  yes.  I  had  been  a  mis- 
erably selfish,  morbid  man,  and  I  thought 
I  could  make  her  happy,  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  devote  my  life  to  her — at  least, 
I  think  I  thought  so  ;  I  meant  to  think 
so.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  did  think, 
but  I  did  it." 


Alexia.  123 

"  Does  she  know  it  ?  I  mean,  does  she 
know  that  you  didn't  love  her,  when  you — 
then  ? " 

"  Never  mind  her,"  answered  Geoffrey, 
gently.  "  She  has  not  suffered  yet ;  I 
doubt  if  she  ever  does.  She  will  not  know. 
The  next  wicked  thing  I  did  was  to  fall 
madly  in  love  with  somebody  else  "  (he 
saw  her  start,  turn  deadly  pale,  and  shiver), 
"as  I  have  done,  Alexia,  wretched,  wretched 
man  that  I  am  !  " 

"  Oh,  can't  you  help  it  ?  Can't  you  fight 
against  it  ? "  exclaimed  Alice,  in  real  an- 
guish. She  hadn't  against  hers,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  then  he  was  strong.  And  now  that 
she  knew  he  loved,  she  would  overcome 
hers  !  Her  own  trouble  was  forgotten  in 
his  ;  the  sight  of  his  emotion  was  terrible 
to  her  ;  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"You  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  she  pleaded. 
"  I  know  you  would  not  do  a  wrong  thing. 
And  if  you  do  not  tell  the  girl  —  the  lady 
—  that  you  —  love  her,  there  is  no  crime  ; 
I  mean,  if  you  repent.  It  is  not  as  bad  as 
you  think;  everybody  has  to  suffer;  you 
must  live  more  for  heaven  ;  it  will  all  be 
over  by  and  by ! " 


124  Alexia. 

How  glad  she  was,  even  in  the  midst  of 
her  distress,  that  she  was  not  in  the  con- 
dition of  life  where  ladies  and  gentlemen 
married  without  love  !  She  had  longed  to 
be  a  lady,  lately,  but  she  would  n't  now  be 
one  for  the  world !  It  was  so  revolting, 
so  horrible,  and  she  ought  to  tell  Jiim  so, 
to  take  lies  upon  their  lips  at  the  altar  ;  to 
profane  a  holy  sacrament !  After  all  (her 
heart  gave  a  bound),  it  was  a  simple  mat- 
ter to  set  things  straight ;  it  was  only  a 
question  of  right  and  wrong.  He  had  no 
right  to  marry,  not  loving  ;  he  must  go  to 
the  first  one  and  tell  her  so ;  and  he  must 
marry  the  other.  It  was  her  duty  to 
put  this  plainly  before  him,  and  she 
would. 

But  oh,  in  spite  of  her  kind  heart  and 
her  disregard  of  self,  what  were  these  she 
felt,  —  these  sharp  twinges  shooting  across 
her  at  the  thought  of  the  girl  he  —  O  God ! 
—  he  loved. 

While  Alice's  plan  was  shaping  itself, 
Geoffrey  had  been  in  a  perfect  daze.  That 
such  unconsciousness,  such  utter  ignoring 
of  self,  could  exist,  had  never  by  any  chance 
occurred  to  him.  He  had  known  Alice 


Alexia.  125 

to  be  lacking  in  vanity,  but  this  —  why, 
this  was  the  meekness  of — why,  he  dared 
not  think  what  it  was !  She  was  not  of 
the  earth.  His  torture  grew  every  instant ; 
it  seemed  coarse  now  to  tell  her  of  his  love, 
and  yet  he  loved  her  to  agony.  An  im- 
pulse seized  him. 

"Alexia!  darling!"  He  clutched  her 
hand.  She  should  not  go  until  he  had 
finished.  "  Don't  you  know  ?  Can't  you 
see?  It  is  you,  sweet,  I  love.  I  did  not 
know  it  till  it  burst  upon  me.  I  am  dying 
for  love  of  you.  But  I  belong  to — others. 
So  I  have  come  to  say  goocl-by  to  you,  and 
to  beg  you  to  forgive  me  for  daring  to  in- 
sult you  so." 

In  spite  of  her  struggles  to  release  her- 
self, and  his  weakness,  he  still  held  her 
hand.  He  saw  the  burst  of  joy  which 
brought  the  blood  bounding  in  a  torrent  to 
her  cheeks ;  he  could  hardly  control  him- 
self. In  one  moment  more  he  would  have 
defied  Helen  and  the  world,  and  would 
have  implored  Alice  to  fly  with  him  in  the 
green  dory ! 

But  she  wrenched  her  hand  away. 
"  Let  me  go,"  she  said ;  and  no  effort 


126  Alexia. 

of  hers  could  disguise  the  rapture  in  her 
tone.  "I  love  you,  too,"  she  murmured, 
"and  I  can  suffer  with  joy  and  glad- 
ness now  to  the  end  of  my  life."  She  had 
started  at  her  first  words,  and  now  she 
was  gone  like  the  wind. 

There,  on  the  rock,  where  Alice  had  left 
him,  sat  Geoffrey  for  another  hour.  He 
had  not  tried  to  follow  her;  for  he  knew 
he  must  not  see  her  again  —  ever. 

He  was  in  a  whirl  of  confused  emotions; 
he  did  n't  know  how  or  what  he  felt  most. 
To  find  her  so  noble  and  so  strong  added 
to  the  pain  of  non-possession  ;  and  yet  he 
felt  he  had  presumed  in  daring  to  love  this 
lowly  fisher-maiden,  so  far,  far  above  him 
was  she.  Her  kindness  to  him,  poor  little 
broken-hearted  comforter!  before  she  knew 
he  loved  her,  had  been  nothing  short  of 
heavenly  charity ;  angels  could  have  done 
no  more. 

But  oh  !  the  blessed  thought  that  cheered 
him,  as  it  had  glorified  her,  —  the  knowledge 
of  her  love,  —  all  his  !  The  burden  some- 
how had  been  lessened,  the  weight  of  guilt 
grown  lighter.  They  bore  a  common  sor- 
row. For  a  moment  he  was  almost  happy 


Alexia.  127 

at  the  thought  that  their  sufferings  were 
exactly  alike.  Yet  the  differences  forced 
themselves  into  prominence,  every  now 
and  then,  and  his  sense  of  guilt  returned. 

It  took  Geoffrey,  in  his  worn-out  condi- 
tion, a  long  time  to  go  to  the  station,  and 
then  he  found  that  the  last  train  had  gone. 
He  was  not  up  to  the  exertion  of  driving 
to  the  nearest  town,  to  take  one  there ;  so 
he  hired  a  man  to  drive  him  over  the  dusty 
dyke  to  Murray's  house.  It  was  much 
farther  than  the  old  way,  but  he  would  not 
go  near  the  harbor,  lest  Alice  should  be 
there.  She  must  be  placed  in  no  embar- 
rassing position  now  by  him. 

Laura  was  lying  in  a  long  chair,  in  the 
veranda.  She  was  surprised  to  see  Geof- 
frey, but  not  overjoyed.  She  had  just 
heard  of  his  illness.  "  You  poor  cripple  !  " 
she  exclaimed  ;  "  tell  them  to  bring  an- 
other long  chair  over  here,  and  we  '11  groan 
together,  and  exchange  notes  on  symp- 
toms. It  has  been  a  bad  week,  so  foggy 
and  damp ;  and  now  I  see  there  is  another 
big  bank  rolling  in." 

Geoffrey  declined  the  offer  of  the  long 
chair,  but  sank  rather  hard  into  the  most 


128  Alexia. 

comfortable  one  near  him.  "Where's 
Murray  ?  "  he  asked,  by  way  of  something 
to  say.  He  dreaded  seeing  him,  he  was 
so  tactless. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure ;  he  has  n't 
gone  sailing,  because  he  was  afraid  of  the 
fog,  but  he  will  be  half  a  day  late  to  dinner, 
as  usual ;  so  let 's  have  ours.  I  am  lucky 
to  secure  a  vis-a-vis." 

So  they  dined,  and  carefully  avoided 
every  subject  but  the  most  remote  ;  and  it 
was  a  dull  dinner. 

Murray  came  in,  full  of  excuses,  when 
they  had  nearly  finished.  The  fog  was 
getting  so  thick,  he  said,  they  could  hardly 
get  across  the  harbor.  "  Blame  this  fog  !  " 
said  Murray  ;  "  it  puts  an  end  to  every- 
thing. I  hoped  we  had  had  enough  of  it ; 
but  we  're  in  for  another  bout  of  a  week, 
I  suppose." 


Alexia.  129 


IX. 

OUNDAY  came,  raw  and  rainy,  and 
»s_J  with  a  dense  fog  shrouding  every- 
thing. Geoffrey  was  glad  of  the  excuse 
his  rheumatism  gave  him  to  stay  in-doors, 
for  although  it  would  be  hard  to  find  any- 
body in  such  a  fog,  he  wished  not  to  run 
the  risk  of  worrying  Alice  with  an  en- 
counter. It  was  a  dull,  dreary  day,  —  not 
a  sign  of  a  town,  or  a  boat,  or  even  a  bay, 
had  been  seen.  Toward  evening,  by  the 
clock,  —  for  there  was  only  a  degree  more 
darkness  than  there  had  been,  —  old  Iron 
came  clattering  up  the  veranda  steps, 
and,  with  every  appearance  of  ague,  fairly 
fell  into  the  room  where  they  were  all 
sitting. 

<l  My  God ! "  he  roared,  without  pre- 
face,—  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had 
been  direct,  —  "you  aint  seen  the  child, 
hev  you,  anybody  ?  She  's  out  in  the  fog, 
an'  she 's  ben  out  sence  last  night,  an'  I  'm 
9 


130  Alexia. 

afeared  she's  starved  or  froze,  ef  she 
aint  drownded!" 

They  had  all  sprung  to  their  feet  at  the 
first  words  ;  and  before  Iron  had  finished, 
Murray  and  Geoff,  followed  by  the  trem- 
bling old  fisherman  and  some  small  boys, 
were  stalking  down  to  the  float.  As  uni- 
versal a  resort,  a  wharf,  in  a  place  like  this, 
at  such  a  time,  as  a  police-station  in  the 
city. 

A  servant  came  running  after  Geoffrey 
with  a  great-coat.  "  Mrs.  Trevor  sent  this 
to  you,  sir,  and  begs  you  to  be  careful ; 
she  says  you  must  not  stay  out  in  the  damp." 

Geoffrey  threw  the  coat  aside  in  a  fury. 
The  very  idea  of  his  thinking  of  his  own 
health  at  such  a  time  !  He  only  hoped  he 
could  die,  saving  her!  He  was  almost 
insane. 

Old  Iron,  after  seventeen  preambles  and 
a  hundred  digressions,  explained  as  he  tum- 
bled, breathless,  down  the  road  after  the 
others,  that  the  reason  he  had  n't  missed 
Alice  before  was  because  he  thought  she 
was  with  the  Sisters  ;  and  the  reason  the 
Sisters  had  n't  missed  her  was  because 
they  thought  she  was  with  him. 


Alexia.  131 

Everybody  was  out  in  boats  now,  large 
and  small,  with  horns  and  without  them  ; 
but  the  thickness  of  the  fog  prevented  a 
real  search,  and  one  or  two  of  the  men  got 
lost  for  hours,  going  too  far  to  look.  All 
they  could  do  was  to  row  about  in  a  desul- 
tory way,  blowing  the  horns,  and  shouting. 
There  was  not  a  puff  of  wind.  Old  Iron 
said  he  never  had  seen  such  a  fog,  and  he 
was  about  the  oldest  inhabitant. 

Murray  was  the  coolest  hand  in  the 
whole  party ;  he  insisted  that  Alice  was 
level-headed,  and  that  when  she  found 
herself  fog-bound  she  had  gone  ashore  at 
the  nearest  place,  or  had  boarded  some 
vessel.  The  thought  of  her  alone,  how- 
ever, at  the  mercy  of  stray  sailors,  was 
death  and  distraction  to  Geoffrey. 

Although  the  fog  might  account  for 
Alice's  absence,  —  and  he  hugged  that 
hope,  —  Geoffrey  from  the  first  had  feared 
suicide.  She  could  not  bear  her  trouble, 
he  said  to  himself.  Elopement  had  been 
Sister  Ignatia's  explanation  of  the  disap- 
pearance, but  here  was  Geoffrey  ;  and  Blynn 
had  seen  Alice  take  the  green  dory,  and 
row  very  hard  toward  the  mouth  of  the 


132  Alexia. 

harbor.  He  thought  of  "warnin'  of  her 
then,"  Blynn  said,  but  "it  was  one  of  those 
things  you  think  of  doin'  and  don't !  " 

Seeing  Geoffrey's  distress,  Sister  Igna- 
tia  forbore  to  give  him  her  opinion  of  his 
conduct.  He  frankly  told  her  that  Alice 
had  run  away  from  him,  and  what  he 
dreaded,  knowing  her  agitation.  Alexia 
would  never  commit  suicide,  the  Sister 
proudly  affirmed ;  she  had  been  too  well 
taught  for  that.  She  looked  upon  it  as 
the  most  horrible  and  unpardonable  of  all 
crimes,  to  take  her  soul,  unasked,  into 
the  presence  of  its  Possessor.  Alexia 
was  a  God-fearing  child,  and  she  would 
trust  her  as  she  would  trust  herself. 

The  fog  did  not  lift,  and  the  town  was 
in  an  uproar  all  night.  In  the  morning 
I  got  a  telegram  from  Geoffrey,  asking  me 
to  go  and  meet  Helen  at  the  steamer. 
"  Alice  is  missing,"  it  said. 

The  position  was  not  one  I  should  have 
sought,  and  how  on  earth  to  account  for 
Geoff's  absence  from  his  post  puzzled  me, 
I  can  tell  you. 

Before  the  message  reached  me,  prob- 
ably, there  was  a  lifting  of  the  fog,  and  a 


A  lex  ia.  133 

small  sloop  yacht  was  discovered,  making 
for  the  harbor,  and  towing  a  green  dory ! 
A  man  and  two  women  were  discerned 
standing  in  the  stern,  and  one  of  them, 
leaping  to  the  bow,  and  waving  her  hand- 
kerchief, was  then  observed  to  be  Alice. 

It  turned  out  to  be  as  Murray  had  said. 
Alice  had  taken  her  boat  for  a  long, 
long  spin,  forgetting  all  about  the  fog, 
which  had  surrounded  her  near  Melancholy 
Island.  Seeing,  from  a  long  intimacy  with 
fogs,  the  vanity  of  trying  to  get  back,  she 
had  drawn  the  dory  up  on  t  the  beach  of 
the  island,  and  spent  the  night  in  it.  In 
the  morning  she  had  rowed  cautiously, 
a  few  feet  at  a  time,  and  shouting  every 
instant.  This  gentleman  and  his  wife  had 
heard  her  at  last ;  and  after  many  false 
turns,  for  the  fog  was  deceptive,  as  well 
as  dense,  she  had  found  their  yacht,  and 
got  on  board.  And  then  they  had  been 
at  anchor,  like  every  other  sailing  craft 
about,  ever  since,  for  fear  of  rocks  and 
collisions. 

Geoffrey  did  not  wait  to  speak  to  Alice. 
Nobody  would  notice,  in  the  confusion, 
whether  he  did  or  not,  and  he  would  not 


1 34  Alexia. 

disturb  her  any  more.  He  saw  her  as 
she  landed.  Her  hair  was  wet  with  vapor, 
and  clinging  about  her  forehead  in  rings  ; 
her  eyes  were  scared  and  solemn  ;  and  her 
lips  were  quivering,  at  the  thought  of  the 
trouble  she  had  caused.  It  took  all  Geof- 
frey's self-control,  and  more  too,  to  keep 
him  from  rushing  forward,  taking  her  in 
his  arms,  and  holding  her  there  forever. 
Murray  said  he  looked  sixty  years  old. 

It  was  too  late  now  to  meet  Helen,  but 
he  could  drag  himself  to  her  house,  and 
patch  up  matters  somehow.  The  night 
in  the  drenching  mist,  and  his  worry  and 
self-reproach  had  not  improved  Geoffrey's 
physical  condition,  and  he  was  really  very 
ill.  But  he  had  his  work  yet  to  do,  and  he 
nerved  himself  to  do  it. 

At  the  station  in  the  city  Geoffrey  took 
a  cab  and  hurried  off.  "  She  is  not  dead," 
he  repeated  to  himself,  —  "  not  dead.  But 
oh,  that  night  on  Melancholy  Island  !  All 
my  fault,  my  own  darling,  every  bit ;  from 
now  on,  every  one  of  your  sufferings  I,  who 
adore  you,  shall  have  caused.  Oh,  it  was 
all  too  horrible  and  bad  and  beastly!" 
and  he  cursed  himself  over  and  over  again. 


Alexia.  135 

When  the  cab  stopped  at  Helen's  door, 
Geoffrey  had  almost  forgotten  what  he  had 
come  for.  He  climbed  the  steps  stiffly 
and  slowly,  and  rang  the  bell.  Murray 
had  poured  brandy  down  his  throat  and 
forced  him  to  swallow  his  coffee,  and  he 
had  made  his  toilet  mechanically ;  but  he 
bore  traces  still  of  having  been  out  all 
night,  and  he  felt  that  deadly  ache  in  his 
bones  which  none  but  the  truly  rheumatic 
know. 

The  servant  who  opened  the  door,  and 
who  bore  marks  of  recent  weeping,  looked 
shocked  at  seeing  him.  Miss  Helen  had 
arrived,  but  could  see  nobody  ;  which  rather 
surprised  Geoffrey,  as  the  man  knew  him 
perfectly,  and  his  position  in  the  house. 
He  sent  up  his  card,  however,  and  waited. 

Presently  the  servant  returned,  bearing 
a  note,  with  a  black  border  an  inch  deep. 
Geoffrey  took  it  with  strange  sensations  of 
joy  and  guilt,  —  guilt  at  the  joy,  I  think. 
Then  she  would  not  see  him ! 

"  I  cannot  forgive  your  extraordinary 
conduct,"  the  note  ran,  "  in  not  coming  to 
meet  me  ;  and  I  decline  to  see  you." 

This  was  vague,  and  whether  it  amounted 


136  Alexia. 

to  a  dismissal  or  not,  Geoffrey  could  n't 
tell.  He  could  take  it  for  one,  however, 
and  he  would.  Then  it  was  true  ;  he  was 
free,  free  to  go  to —  " Oh  no,  no,  no"  he 
cried  out ;  he  had  no  right  to  take  Helen 
at  her  word  ;  of  course  his  conduct  had 
seemed  barbarous  to  her  without  an  ex- 
planation, and  of  course  he  must  do  his 
best  to  reinstate  himself  with  her. 

He  wrote  on  the  blank  half-sheet  of  her 
letter,  and  the  mourning  border  seemed 
singularly  appropriate  :  — 

MY  DEAR  HELEN,  —  I  can  explain  to  you  why 
I  seemed  so  unnatural  this  morning.  Nothing 
would  have  kept  me  but  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  Let  me  see  you  and  tell  you  about  it, 
I  beg, 

Yours  ever,  GEOFFREY. 

This  sent  off,  he  was  plunged  into  de- 
spair again,  because  he  knew  she  must 
listen  to  his  appeal ! 

In  a  moment  the  man  returned,  and 
said  Miss  Helen  would  be  in  the  drawing- 
room  directly.  So  Geoffrey  went  up,  and 
awaited  her  in  a  company  of  sheeted 
ghosts,  for  the  furniture  was  in  its  summer 


Alexia.  137 

garments,  —  most  fitting  associates  for  him 
just  then,  —  and  Helen,  in  billows  of  black, 
swept  in.  She  was  overcome,  very  much, 
at  seeing  him  ;  and  Geoffrey  was  touched 
by  the  weariness  in  her  face.  It  had  been 
an  awful  experience  for  her,  poor  girl !  he 
thought,  and  he  was  glad  he  had  con- 
quered himself. 

"  You  look  fearfully  ill,  Geoffrey,"  she 
said  in  a  constrained  manner,  yet  kindly. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  Geoffrey  replied,  "  only 
a  touch  of  the  gout." 

I  think  for  a  moment  Helen  may  have 
thought  he  had  made  her  troubles  his. 
But  that  was  rather  beyond  her  powers  of 
comprehension. 

"  What  I  want  to  say  to  you  is  this, 
Helen,"  Geoffrey  said.  "  At  the  very  mo- 
ment I  should  have  been  starting  to  meet 
you  this  morning,  we  were  scouring  the 
bay  to  find  the  grandchild  of  Murray 
Trevor's  old  fisherman,  who  had  been 
missing  since  Saturday."  How  lame  it 
sounded  as  he  said  it !  He  had  not  realized 
how  flimsy  his  excuse  really  was.  I  had 
when  I  made  it  to  Helen  on  the  steamer, 


1 38  Alexia. 

and  saw  her  face!  Of  course  he  could 
hardly  explain  to  her  his  violent  interest 
in  the  girl. 

"The  grandchild  of  Murray  Trevor's 
old  fisherman  !  And  you  come  here,  in 
sober  earnest,  to  tell  me  that  you  desert 
me  in  my  hour  of  need  and  affliction,  be- 
cause a  dirty  little  baby  down  at  Quartz 
Head  falls  into  the  water !  And  pray,  who 
has  constituted  you  the  guardian  of  that 
town  ? "  she  sneered.  "  You  never  saw  it 
till  a  month  ago.  And  were  there  not 
relations  of  the  child  to  search  for  it,  with- 
out you,  who  were  bound  by  every  tie  of 
decency  to  come  to  me  ?  The  grandchild 
of  Murray  Trevor's  fisherman  !  Oh,  it 's 
monstrous,  Geoffrey !  It  's  not  to  be 
borne."  And  she  turned  to  leave  him. 

Again  Geoffrey's  heart  leaped.  Had  he 
not  done  all  he  could,  and  failed  ?  No,  he 
must  push  it  to  the  end.  Only  he  would 
not  pretend  to  care  much ;  it  was  too 
sickening  to  go  on  deceiving  ;  he  could  n't 
do  it.  But  he  made  another  effort 

"Very  well,  Helen,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  if  you  choose  to  misunderstand.  I  could 
not  have  come  to  you,  nor  to  my  own  sis- 


Alexia.  139 

ter,  when  a  young  girl  was  perhaps  drown- 
ing or  drowned.  I  had  been  last  with  her 
on  the  evening  she  disappeared,  and  it 
would  have  been  indecent  for  me  to  come 
away  until  the  fate  of  the  girl  was  known. 
It  was  not  a  baby,  nor  a  child  ;  it  was  a 
girl  of  seventeen,  and  a  remarkably  fine 
girl  at  that." 

How  he  hated  himself  for  speaking  so 
of  her!  The  adjective  was  well  chosen, 
he  might  have  used  it  of  a  chambermaid ; 
and  Helen  was  mollified  before  he  had 
finished  his  plea.  She  had  been  hard  upon 
him  ;  one  ought  never  to  condemn  so 
hastily,  and  she  told  him  so.  "Of  course, 
Geoffrey,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand, 
"  I  was  terribly  wounded  at  your  not  being 
at  the  wharf  to  receive  me ;  it  seemed  so 
heartless ;  and  your  friend,  Mr.  Farley, 
made  such  an  insufficient  apology  for  you. 
[I  did  n't  know  what  to  say,  confound  it !] 
But  I  will  forgive  you,  dear,  and  we  '11 
say  no  more  about  it.  The  first  thing  to 
do  is  to  get  you  well.  I  must  stay  with 
you  always  now." 

Oh,    how   loathsome   his  position  was ! 
How  was  he  ever  going  to  live  on  like  this  ? 


140  Alexia. 

He  must  speak  the  truth  out  now.  He 
had  seen  how  fatal  delays  were,  in  the  case 
of  Alice ;  and  drifting  along  irresponsibly 
with  tide  and  current  was  all  very  well, 
when  you  had  not  to  get  back,  against 
both.  It  was  a  shocking  time  to  cause 
Helen  pain,  with  her  mother  lying  dead  in 
the  house  ;  but  must  he  not  speak  ?  Was 
that  not  the  only  course  ? 

It  was  only  for  her  he  cared  ;  he  was  in- 
different to  everything  ;  but  he  must  end 
her  .deception,  if  she  were  deceived.  She 
had  never  loved  him  ;  so  it  could  n't  matter 
much  really  to  her. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  ap- 
proaching her  and  speaking  in  a  gentle, 
pained  manner,  "  I  have  never  loved  you 
as  a  man  should  do  who  is  to  become  your 
husband.  I  think  you  have  always  known 
this,  or  you  did  know  it  once  ;  but  you 
said  you  were  content  with  what  I  could 
give  you,,  and  that  you  did  not  believe  in 
the  grand  passion  yourself.  I  am  right  ?  " 

Helen  had  turned  her  back  partly  around, 
and  was  nervously  fingering  a  vase  on  the 
chimney-piece.  She  made  no  answer. 

"  I    honestly  think  —  for  I  must   make 


Alexia.  141 

some  slight  plea  for  myself — that  if  you 
had  not  gone  away,  things  would  have  re- 
mained exactly  as  they  were.  That  should 
have  made  no  difference,  I  suppose,  to  a 
man  of  honor,  but  it  did  —  to  me.  You  did 
go  ;  and  I  —  since  you  have  been  gone  — 
I  —  have  fallen  in  love !  " 

Helen  wheeled  round  and  faced  him,  her 
eyes  blazing,  her  chest  heaving,  with  scorn 
and  wrath.  "A  'man  of  honor' — you!" 
Her  contempt  was  withering.  "  So,  sir," 
measuring  him  from  head  to  foot,  "  this  is 
the  man  to  whom  I  have  given  myself ! 
This  the  —  " 

Geoffrey  stopped  her.  "  Don't,  Helen  ; 
I  don't  blame  you  for  being  disgusted  ; 
but  listen  one  moment.  I  have  done  you 
no  outivard  wrong.  [He  knew  her  vul- 
nerable point]  I  still  hold  myself  yours; 
do  as  you  please  with  me;  take  me,  or 
leave  me."  She  should  have  the  initiative, 
he  thought. 

"A  fine  possession,  truly,  to  take  or 
leave,"  sneered  Helen,  again  glaring  at 
Geoffrey.  Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  with 
a  burning  red  spot  on  each  cheek,  and  her 
eyes  were  glittering.  She  bit  her  lip  to 


142  Alexia. 

keep  the  tears  of  anger  back.  "  A  noble 
type ;  a  perfect  gentleman  !  So,  sir,  it  is 
mine,  is  it,  —  this  gem,  this  pearl  of  great 
price  ? "  She  hesitated,  crouching  for  a 
spring.  "  Very  well,  then,  it  shall  continue 
mine,  poor  paltry  thing  that  it  is  !  [Geof- 
frey started,  as  if  he  were  shot ;  he  could 
not  believe  his  ears.]  Your  name  and 
your  protection  are  mere  commodities  to 
me  now,  but  they  will  be  useful  to  me  ;  at 
any  rate,  it  serves  my  purpose  to  keep 
them.  Your  love  you  may  bestow  where 
you  choose  ;  I  scorn  it.  But  I  will  not  be 
humiliated  before  the  world."  And  she 
swept  to  the  door. 

"Helen,"  cried  out  Geoffrey,  —  " Helen, 
you  shall  not  go  like  this,  Helen  !  You 
are  not  fit  to  discuss  the  point  now.  I 
should  not  have  brought  it  up.  Helen! " 

But  she  was  gone,  and  all  Geoffrey  could 
do  was  to  go  too.  What  a  fiend  she  was  ! 
And  he  had  crawled  at  her  feet,  and  she 
had  set  her  foot  upon  his  neck  and  pressed 
him  farther  into  the  earth.  He  was  still 
bound  to  her,  but  with  every  moral  tie 
broken.  Nothing  but  handcuffs  held  them 
together  now. 


Ale xi a.  143 


X. 


EOFFREY  broke  down  altogether. 
I  never  saw  him  so  ill.  He  staggered 
into  my  rooms  that  afternoon.  He  could 
not  go  to  the  Club,  he  said,  he  must  be 
near  me ;  and  he  never  left  my  bed  for  a 
fortnight.  He  was  entirely  prostrated, 
poor  Geoff!  and  for  days  he  never  opened 
his  eyes.  He  suffered  intensely,  but  he 
bore  it  like  a  hero. 

I  sent  Miss  Courtice  word  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  go  to  the  funeral ;  and  Mur- 
ray took  his  place.  The  day  after  old  Mrs. 
Courtice  was  buried,  Helen  herself  ap- 
peared, swathed  in  crape,  to  minister  to 
Geoffrey.  I  saw  her,  and  told  her  that  the 
doctor  had  given  orders  he  was  to  see  no 
one,  and  indeed  he  was  too  sick.  She 
begged  me  to  send  her  word  when  she 
could  come  to  help  nurse  him.  I  did  n't 
know  then  what  had  happened,  but  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  such  a  cold,  hard  face  in 


144  Alexia. 

so  young  a  woman.  She  looked  very  hand- 
some ;  and  the  nurse,  who  saw  her  too,  told 
Geoffrey  he  ought  to  be  very  proud  to  have 
such  a  lovely  lady  coming  to  inquire  for 
him.  Geoffrey  managed  to  call  up  a  heart- 
rending smile,  like  the  dying  ray  of  a  win- 
ter sunset ;  and  I  told  the  nurse  not  to  let 
him  know  of  any  more  visitors.  One  night, 
when  he  was  half  delirious,  he  beckoned  me 
to  him,  and  told  me,  in  a  solemn  whisper, 
that  he  was  afraid  of  Helen ! 

It  was  when  we  were  alone  —  or  the 
faithful  attendant  was  snoring — that  Geof- 
frey told  me  all  that  had  happened  at 
Quartz,  with  Alice,  and  in  town.  The  hot 
tears  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  of 
Alice,  but  he  loved  to  talk  about  her,  and 
I  knew  he  was  always  thinking  of  her.  He 
said  he  wanted  to  live  and  suffer,  so  as  to 
be  worthy  of  her.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
her,  whom  he  should  never  see  again,  he 
would  have  longed  to  die.  His  life  had 
been  such  a  wretched  waste,  he  said ;  but 
he  was  going  to  try  to  repair  it,  —  to  do 
what  she  would  have  him  do. 

Murray  Trevor  came  in  every  day,  and 
was  very  anxious  about  Geoffrey.  "  I  be- 


Alexia.  145 

lieve  there  was  something  between  him 
and  Alice,  Farley,"  said  the  old  stupid  to 
me  one  day,  as  I  was  letting  him  out. 
"  You  were  right.  She  's  going  to  take  a 
veil,  or  be  a  nun,  or  something.  Old  Iron 
told  me  so.  She  has  promised  him  that 
she  '11  wait  till  the  autumn,  though.  He  's 
in  a  deuce  of  a  way  about  it." 

As  Geoffrey  grew  stronger,  and  was  be- 
ginning to  sit  up,  there  seemed  to  be  no 
way  of  keeping  Helen  out  any  longer,  so 
we  let  her  come.  Geoffrey  treated  her 
with  deference,  but  nothing  more.  She 
was  very  uncomfortable,  but  her  manner 
was  kind  and  devoted  before  me.  She  was 
behaving  so  badly  that  Geoffrey  had  not 
one  ray  of  respect  for  her,  and  of  course 
it  was  monstrous  to  let  the  thing  go  on. 
One  night  I  put  out  a  feeler. 

"  Geoff,"  I  said,  "  have  n't  you  almost 
fulfilled  your  duty  to  that  lump  of  black 
ice,  that  frowning  crag,  who  comes  here 
every  day,  to  prevent  you  from  getting 
well?" 

He  shook  his  head  wearily.  "  No,"  he 
said  sadly.  "The  more  unhappy  I  am, 
the  greater  is  my  expiation,  I  feel." 


146  Alexia. 

"Oh,  stuff  and  grandmother!"  I  ex- 
claimed, out  of  all  patience.  "What  good 
does  your  leading  a  dog's  life  do  either  of 
those  two  women  ?  It  grieves  one  to 
death,  and  fosters  a  wrong  spirit  in  the 
other.  As  you  are  going  on  now,  you  are 
simply  pandering  to  Helen  Courtice's  thirst 
for  vengeance.  She  is  wretched,  —  any- 
body can  see  that ;  you  are  a  thousand 
times  more  so  ;  and  as  for  that  poor,  pa- 
tient soul  down  at  Quartz  Head,  who  is 
going  to  retire  from  the  world,  she  suifers 
more  than  both  of  you  put  together." 

"  Retire  from  the  world  !  What  do  you 
mean  ? "  cried  the  invalid,  catching  at  that 
in  an  instant. 

"  Why,  she 's  going  to  be  a  Sister,  or 
something." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  He  was  grow- 
ing excited  ;  but  the  doctor  had  told  me  to 
try  to  rouse  him. 

"  Murray  Trevor  told  me  so." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  other  day.  I  thought  it  wiser 
not  to  tell  you." 

"  Now,  I  say,  Felix,  don't  keep  things 
from  me.  Pray  don't!  I  am  perfectly 


Alexia.  147 

well.     I  'm  going  out  to-morrow.     Tell  me 
all  about  it,  Felix." 

I  told  him  just  what  Murray  had  said. 

"  Does  she  know  I  have  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Well,  rather.  She  wrote  me,  and  I 
have  written  her  about  you  every  day." 

"  You  trump !  you  brick !  "  shouted  Geof- 
frey, jumping  up  from  his  chair.  "Let 
me  see  her  letter,  quick,  there  's  a  good 
fellow  ! " 

I  went  and  got  it.  He  snatched  it  out 
of  my  hand,  and  actually  trembled  as  he 
tore  it  open. 

It  was  a  little  note  ;  but  he  could  n't 
have  made  more  fuss  over  a  quarto  vol- 
ume. It  only  said  :  — 

DEAR  MR.  FARLEY,  —  Mr.  Murray  Trevor  has 
told  my  grandfather  that  Mr.  Geoffrey  is  very  ill. 
Will  you  let  me  know  how  ill  ?     And  if  there  is 
anything  I  can  do,  may  I,  please,  do  it? 
Respectfully  yours, 

ALICE. 

Geoffrey  uttered  a  Romeo-like  little 
moan  as  he  closed  the  note,  only  to  open 
it  and  devour  it  again  a  moment  later. 

"  And  so  it  sends  her  a  bulletin  every 
day,  does  it  ?  "  said  Geoffrey,  actually  smil- 


148  Alwcia. 

ing.  "  O  Felix  !  Felix  !  What  can  I  ever 
do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Get  well,  and  finish  up  that  Courtice 
business,"  I  retorted,  rather  coarsely  I  am 
afraid.  It  made  me  furious. 

Geoffrey  gained  ;  and  one  day  he  wrote 
Helen  that  he  did  n't  feel  he  could  claim 
her  time  or  her  attention  any  longer  in  his 
sick-room.  "  Let  me  know  how  I  can 
serve  you,"  he  added,  not  knowing  exactly 
what  he  meant,  but  giving  her  a  loop-hole 
for  a  graceful  exit. 

Her  answer  was  an  insolent  one  :  — 

"  I  shall  let  you  know,  be  sure,  sir,  how  you 
can  serve  me.  It  is  for  no  other  purpose  I  keep 
up  this  farce,  which  does  not  amuse  me  in  the 
least.  But  what  you  owe  me  you  shall  pay." 

One  morning,  when  he  was  about  again, 
he  went  to  see  Helen.  She  was  still  in 
town,  leading  a  secluded  life  ;  in  fact,  see- 
ing nobody.  He  started  with  the  full 
determination  not  to  leave  her  until  he 
had  made  her  see  the  situation  aright, 
through  his  eyes.  Above  all,  there  should 
be  no  quarrel,  if  he  could  by  any  effort 
prevent  it. 


Alexia.  149 

Geoffrey  had  changed  very  much  ;  there 
was  not  a  trace  of  the  old  cynicism  about 
him  ;  he  was  trying  to  be  good  now  for 
good's  sake.  It  was  Helen's  happiness 
for  which  he  was  honestly  striving ;  not 
his  own,  nor  Alice's,  —  which  was,  after 
all,  his  own.  He  could  give  up  all  hope 
of  possessing  Alice  ;  but  he  would  never 
give  up  the  hope  of  being  worthy  of 
her. 

Helen  had  had  a  thoroughly  bad  train- 
ing, thought  Geoffrey.  The  greatest  al- 
lowance must  be  made  for  her;  the  most 
infinite  patience  used  with  her.  He  had 
treated  her  ill,  very  ill,  there  was  not  a 
question  of  it,  and  of  course  she  would  be 
revengeful.  So  would  he  have  been  before 
he  had  had  that  shining  example  before 
him  ! 

The  trouble  with  Helen  was  that  she 
was  perfectly  unreasonable.  She  seemed 
to  think  she  could  upbraid  Geoffrey  in  the 
most  cutting  terms,  — "  call  him  every- 
thing," as  the  phrase  is,  —  and  yet  com- 
mand his  willing  service.  She  cared 
nothing  for  him,  she  openly  avowed  ;  in 
fact,  she  hated  him.  The  world's  opinion, 


150  Alexia, 

then,  was  far  more  to  her  than  her  own 
happiness. 

"  If,  even  after  we  were  engaged,  I  had 
won  your  love,  Helen,"  said  Geoffrey  to 
her,  kindly,  when  the  interview  had  already 
lasted  more  than  an  hour,  "  I  would  not 
think  of  changing  the  condition  of  affairs, 
provided  you  wished  it  to  remain.  I 
would  not  consider  myself,  in  any  case. 
But  why  do  I  say,  '  if  I  had  won  your 
love  '  ?  If  you  had  loved  me,  there  would 
have  been  no  such  thing  as  temptation  for 
me  ;  I  should  have  been  clothed  in  a  coat 
of  mail.  And  then,  too,  if  you  had  loved 
me,  you  would  never  have  left  me."  He 
could  not  resist  putting  in  that  plea  for 
himself  again. 

"Oh,  'left'  you!"  mocked  Helen. 
"  How  tired  I  am  of  that  eternal  lament  ! 
Left  you  !  What  is  it  to  go  abroad,  for 
Heaven's  sake  ?  No  more  than  running 
down  to  Campobello,  and  you  wanted  me 
to  do  that !  As  if  a  man  could  n't  be 
'  left '  for  a  week  or  two,  for  fear  of  his 
getting  into  mischief!  Besides,  you  could 
have  gone  with  me —  I  'm  sure  I  urged  you 
enough  — or  followed  me.  It  is  an  ab- 


Alexia.  151 

surdly  babyish  excuse  for  a  grown  man  to 
make,  that  he  was  'left  all  alone'!"  And 
Helen  made  a  grimace,  like  a  child,  or 
imitating  one. 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  we  '11  drop  that  ;  there 
shall  be  no  more  excuses.  I  have  sinned 
against  you  deeply.  I  am  going  to  make 
reparation.  Reparation  is  repairing — the 
wrong  I  have  done  you  ;  not  persisting  in 
it  and  rushing  into  ten  times  as  much 
more,  as  you  would  have  me  do.  God 
knows,  for  every  pain  I  cause  you  I  suffer 
a  hundred  ;  and  that  is  no  more  than  a  just 
proportion."  Oh,  would  this  interview 
never  end  !  It  was  such  a  brutal  position 
to  be  in  !  If  he  was  not  reaping  the  whirl- 
wind with  a  vengeance !  But  it  must  be 
followed  to  the  finish. 

She  admitted  that  her  aims  were  vicious. 
She  declared  now  that  she  wished  to 
thwart  Geoffrey  ;  he  was  striving  to  be 
free  from  her,  in  order  that  he  might 
marry  this  unprincipled  creature,  who  had 
stolen  him  from  her  ! 

Geoffrey  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
Alice  should  not  be  brought  into  the  con- 
troversy. He  was  roused  now,  however. 


152  Alexia. 

"  If  there  were  no  other  woman  in  the 
world,  Helen,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  the 
same  now.  It  happens  to  be  love  which 
brought  me  to  my  senses  ;  which  opened 
my  eyes  to  the  wickedness  of  our  course. 
It  might  have  been  anything  else;  it 
would  have  come  to  the  same  thing,  I 
hope.  Since  the  day  you  landed  I  have 
not  seen — the  person  you  designate  so 
untruly,  —  for  she  is  pure  principle  and 
goodness  ;  I  may  never  see  her  again.  I 
am  simply  viewing  the  thing  in  the  light 
of  truth.  I  should  be  sinning  most  mon- 
strously, if  with  this  light  full  upon  me  I 
allowed  you  to  go  on  living  a  wicked 
lie." 

"  I  wonder  this  moral  mirror,  this  em- 
bodiment of  all  that  is  finest  in  woman 
[this  was  the  chance  Helen  had  been 
longing  for]  did  not  begin  her  great 
work  earlier,  —  by  preventing  you  from 
plunging  into  such  mad  devotion  to  her, 
for  instance,"  said  Helen,  with  a  hateful 
smile.  "  She  was  slow  in  sowing  the  pre- 
cious seed  ;  the  crop  came  up  rather  late 
in  the  season." 

"  Enough  of  her,"  said  Geoffrey  ;  "  she 


Alexia.  153 

has  no  place  in  this  discussion.  The  mat- 
ter rests  on  another  basis  altogether.  I 
beg  you,  Helen,  to  break  off  this  engage- 
ment (there  is  nothing  left  of  it  but  a  tat- 
tered cobweb)  in  your  own  way  ;  tell  your 
friends  as  much  or  as  little  as  you  choose ; 
blame  me  freely;  I  will  not  open  my 
mouth  to  justify  myself.  If  every  man  in 
this  town  shuns  me,  it  will  be  no  more 
than  my  desert.  I  mean  it  when  I  say 
that  I  will  bear  my  punishment." 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  one  woman  does  not 
shun  you,"  jeered  Helen,  "you  can  bear 
the  loss  of  everything  else."  She  drew 
herself  up  to  her  full  height ;  she  was 
very  tall.  "  I  will  not  plead  with  you,  sir, 
to  marry  me."  Her  face  crimsoned  with 
shame  at  the  actual  wording  of  the  idea 
which  she  had  implied  repeatedly  without 
a  blush.  "Go!  I  shall  not  soil  my  lips 
with  the  story  of  your  ruffianly  conduct. 
I  only  pray  that  the  vulgar  person  you 
'  honor '  with  your  manly  preference  may 
bring  you  to  the  dust ;  may  cover  you 
with  shame,  as  you  have  brought — as  you 
have  covered  —  me !  " 

Helen's   fortitude,  or   bravado,  forsook 


154  Alexia. 

her  before  she  had  finished.  Tears  —  it 
mattered  not  if  they  were  of  rage  ;  they 
were  womanly,  and  touched  Geoffrey  as 
her  words  had  never  done  —  choked  her 
voice,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  break- 
ing down.  As  Geoffrey  did  not  go,  she 
moved  toward  the  door.  He  placed  him- 
self directly  before  her.  "  No,  Helen," 
he  said  ;  "  not  with  a  curse  on  your  lips. 
Bless  me,  rather,  for  saving  you  from  a 
fearful  fate.  And,  Helen,"  — tears  choked 
Jiim  now,  —  "  forgive  me,  do  forgive  me  ! 
You  must  believe  —  you  must  know  — 
that  I  am  sincere  ?  O  Helen,  let  me  be 
your  friend !  I  can  make  you  a  good 
friend  ;  I  should  have  made  you  a  horrible 
husband  !  " 

Helen  had  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands ;  her  form  was  convulsed  with  sobs  ; 
she  was  crying  now  like  any  broken- 
hearted woman.  At  last  she  put  out 
her  hand  gropingly,  and  touched  his 
arm. 

"  Forgive  me"  she  sobbed  ;  "  you  are 
noble.  I  have  always  known  it."  And 
she  burst  by  him  through  the  doorway, 
and  out. 


Alexia.  155 

The  next  week  she  sailed  for  England. 
A  little  note  was  thrust  into  her  hand  as 
she  left.  It  was  this  :  — 

"  May  every  joy  be  yours.  And  may  the  sins 
of  him  who  wronged  you  first,  but  righted  you 
afterward,  be  forgiven  by  your  true  self,  —  that 
self  which  was  revealed  in  a  flood  of  glory  at  the 
last.  God  bless  you,  Helen  !  " 


156  Alexia. 


XI. 

EOFFREY  maintained  strict  deco- 
rum  for  weeks.  He  sent  Alice  no 
line ;  and  he  tried  hard  not  to  think  of  her 
until  the  period  of  his  "  complimentary 
mourning,"  so  to  speak,  had  passed.  He 
made  it  a  long  one ;  long  enough  to  make 
me  very  nervous,  for  I  was  afraid  Alice 
would  take  the  veil  before  he  could  get 
there  to  prevent  it. 

One  day,  late  in  the  summer,  he  went 
to  Quartz.  He  would  not  have  gone 
then  (for  Helen's  sake),  so  bent  was  he 
upon  being  good  (for  Alice's),  but  that 
he  had  received  news  from  England. 
Helen  Courtice  and  Max  Lorimer  were 
engaged  ! 

Then  Geoffrey  beamed.  He  laughed 
aloud ;  he  sang  ;  he  danced !  He  was  the 
happiest  man  I  ever  saw.  Now,  now, 
after  darkness  and  suspense  and  anguish, 
had  come  the  dawn.  The  night  of  gloom 


Alexia.  157 

had  passed.  He  could  open  the  shutters 
boldly  now,  and  let  in  the  cool,  sweet,  fra- 
grant morning  air  ! 

I  went  down  with  him,  for  I  thought 
somebody  ought  to  break  the  news  to  the 
Trevors.  And  then  my  help  might  be  re- 
quired; for  Geoffrey,  who  had  been  the 
soul  of  patience  so  long,  had  thrown  off 
that  disguise,  and  had  declared  to  me,  in 
an  excited  tone,  that  if  Alice  would  do 
him  that  unspeakable  honor,  he  should  be 
married  the  very  instant  he  got  to  Quartz, 
and  saw  her. 

When  we  reached  the  little  station 
again,  and  were  winding  through  the 
crooked  streets,  the  scene  of  Geoffrey's  old 
joys  and  miseries,  he  showed  great  emo- 
tion. He  could  not  realize  his  freedom,  to 
begin  with,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  were 
bursting  with  it.  He  stalked  on  ahead, 
with  long  strides,  to  the  Sisters'  house. 
What  if  she  were  not  there !  What  if 
something  had  happened  to  her !  What 
if  she  would  not  marry  him  !  His  hand 
trembled,  and  his  face  was  flushed,  as  he 
went  up  to  the  little  black  door,  and  pulled 
the  bell-handle.  I  hoped  the  Sisters 


158  Alexia. 

would  not  think  he  had  been  drinking ! 
He  had  already  vices  enough  in  their  eyes, 
without  that  addition. 

Sister  Dorothea,  grave  and  uncompro- 
mising, opened  the  door.  She  was  intimate 
with  the  whole  history  of  his  misdemeanors 
now,  and  no  mistake  should  be  made  again 
through  her  lack  of  vigilance  !  She  looked 
at  Geoffrey  very  severely. 

"Can  I  —  Is  Alexia  here?"  he  gasped, 
husky  and  out  of  breath. 

"  You  may  not  see  Sister  —  Alexia  ;  " 
she  meant  the  last  word  for  a  correction, 
but  Geoffrey  was  appalled. 

"Sister  —  wha-a-t  did  you  say?  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  asked  Geoffrey,  in  a  faint 
voice.  "  She  has  not  become  a  Sister  ?  I 
was  told  not.  But  I  must  see  her !  " 

"  She  is  not  a  Sister  yet,"  said  Dorothea, 
who  looked  more  lightly  upon  the  sin  of 
prevarication  than  usual,  at  that  moment, 
if  I  mistake  not.  "  She  has  taken  no 
vows  ;  but  she  has  given  me  her  promise 
never  to  see  you  again,  unless,"  she  added, 
without  a  smile,  —  "  unless  you  are  at  the 
point  of  death,  which  seems  not  to  be  the 
case  now." 


Alexia.  159 

It  would  be  soon,  I  thought,  if  she  kept 
him  much  longer  in  this  suspense.  It 
was  agonizing  to  him. 

"  I  must  see  her,"  he  repeated  peremp- 
torily. "  Please  tell  her  that  I  am  here." 

Sister  Dorothea  stood  her  ground,  with- 
out budging.  She  looked  as  if  she  were 
going  to  call  a  constable. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Geoffrey,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  speaking  with  great  dig- 
nity and  deliberation,  "  to  ask  Alexia  to  do 
me  the  great  honor  of  becoming  my  wife. 
I  do  not  deserve  the  distinction,  I  am 
well  aware  ;  but  I  must  hear  my  fate  from 
Alexia's  own  lips.  Will  you  allow  me  to 
come  in  ?" 

The  Sister,  feeling  herself  vanquished, 
stepped  aside.  "  I  will  go  and  find  Alexia," 
she  said,  and  went  toward  the  stairway. 
It  was  a  tiny  little  house. 

"Oh,  don't  go  up;  call  her,"  pleaded 
poor  Geoffrey,  piteously ;  and  Dorothea, 
smiling,  obeyed.  As  Alice's  foot  touched 
the  top-stair,  mine  was  on  the  gravel-walk 
outside  ;  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Sister 
Dorothea  fleeing  down  the  little  passage 
which  led  to  the  back  of  the  house.  ' 


160  Alexia. 

I  went  directly  over  to  the  Trevors' 
house,  to  prepare  Laura.  I  found  out 
later  what  Geoffrey's  mode  of  procedure 
was.  After  he  and  Alice  had  —  well,  seen 
each  other  for  some  time,  Geoffrey  asked 
Alice  to  come  out  with  him  at  once,  to 
find  the  clergyman,  and  be  married. 
They  had  had  a  horrible  separation,  he 
said,  and  he  wanted  to  end  it,  and  look 
after  her  all  himself,  from  that  moment. 
But  Alice  declared  such  haste  would  be 
impossible ;  she  called  the  Sisters  in  at 
last,  to  sustain  her  in  this  view. 

They  were  horrified.  Marriage  was  a 
sacrament,  Sister  Ignatia  said,  and  Alice 
must  not  rush  into  it  without  prepara- 
tion. And  then  it  was  not  canonical  to 
be  married  after  twelve  o'clock. 

"  Very  well,"  sighed  Geoffrey,  —  he 
could  not  let  go  Alice's  hand  a  moment, 
and  his  eyes  were  feasting  on  her  face, 
—  "  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  then, 
right  after  breakfast.  I  shall  be  ready  by 
daylight." 

"  But  Alexia  has  no  white  dress,"  Sister 
Ignatia  demurred,  "  and  we  must  make 
herN  one." 


Alexia.  161 

"  I  could  telegraph  to  town,  and  have 
some  sent  down,  if  I  wanted  her  to  wear 
one,"  said  the  lordly  bridegroom,  "but  I 
don't.  I  wish  her  to  wear  the  flannel 
gown  I  have  always  seen  her  in,"  he  said, 
eying  with  great  disfavor  the  black  one  she 
wore,  and  gently  removing  her  white  cap. 

"Oh,  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Sister  Ig- 
natia.  "  She  shall  not  be  married  in  that 
flannel.  And  then  the  veil;  she  must 
have  a  veil !  " 

"  No,"  said  Geoffrey,  decidedly,  deter- 
mined to  score  one  point,  —  "  no  veil.  I 
don't  want  her  rigged  up  at  all.  I  like  her 
in  her  hair  best ;"  and  the  unconventional 
swain  actually  drew  the  young  lady  to  him, 
and  kissed  her,  ignoring  the  bystanders. 

"  But,  Mr.  Trevor,"  urged  the  gentle 
little  Sister,  "  it  is  not  permitted  a  woman 
to  enter  the  church  without  a  covering 
for  her  head." 

"Good  gracious!  What  a  lot  of  obsta- 
cles there  are  to  getting  married !  And  I 
thought  it  was  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world  !  Never  mind.  She  shall  wear  her 
old  tam-o'-shanter  then ;  I  like  her  better 
in  that  than  in  all  the  veils  in  the  world." 


162  Alexia. 

Sister  Ignatia  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  at  this  suggestion,  and  both  Sisters 
burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  "  A  bride 
in  a  tam-o'-shanter!  O  Mr.  Trevor!  You 
could  n't  mean  it !  " 

Geoffrey  was  in  a  minority.  "  Well, 
I  did  mean  it ;  but  Alexia  shall  do  as  she 
pleases  about  the  veil.  How  long  would 
it  take  to  sew  one  up  ? '' 

Alice  had  no  voice  in  the  matter.  She 
was  silent  and  shy  and  blushing,  and 
entirely  absorbed  in  the  joy  of  being  with 
Geoffrey  again.  She  kept  her  brimming 
eyes  fixed  upon  him ;  and  he,  of  course, 
never  took  his  eyes  off  her.  A  nice  time 
the  Sisters  must  have  had  ! 

The  decision  was  that  Geoffrey  must 
wait.  He  wanted  Alice  then  to  go  over 
to  see  Lau^.  with  him.  I  think  he  was 
a  little  afraid  of  Laura,  and  his  haste  about 
marriage  may  have  been  partly  owing  to 
the  fact  that  marriage  first,  and  opposition 
afterward,  was  in  his  mind  the  best  policy. 
But  Alice  said  he  must  go  first  by  him- 
self, and  he  left  her  with  much  reluctance. 

So  it  was  that  Geoffrey  came  rowing 
across  the  harbor  alone,  and  found  Mrs. 


Alexia.  163 

Trevor  and  Murray  and  me  in  conclave, 
—  holding  an  autopsy,  Murray  said.  As 
the  boat  neared  the  shore,  Murray  ran  to 
the  veranda-rail,  and  shouted  wildly.  As 
Geoff  bounded  up  the  bank,  Laura  got  up 
from  her  chair,  a  great  exertion  for  her, 
and  went  down  three  steps  to  meet  him. 
He  put  out  his  hand,  but  Laura  raised 
her  face  to  his,  and  kissed  him.  This 
touched  Geoffrey  very  deeply,  and  for  a 
moment  he  could  n't  speak.  He  patted 
Laura's  hand,  and  Murray  slapped  him 
on  the  back,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  not 
a  word  was  uttered. 

I  think  it  was  lucky  I  had  gone  over 
first  to  pave  the  way.  I  sent  my  card  up, 
with  the  request  that  Mrs.  Trevor  would 
come  down  as  soon  as  possible,  and  she 
responded  by  appearing  without  delay. 
I  had  hardly  prepared  myself  properly  ;  for 
in  my  intense  sympathy  for  Geoff,  and  my 
desire  to  see  him  happy,  I  had  forgotten 
that  after  all  Alice  was  not  the  goddess  to 
Mrs.  Trevor  that  she  appeared  to  him  and 
me,  and  that  she  might  find  news  of  such 
an  alliance  as  this  unpleasant,  as  well  as 
startling. 


164  Alexia. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  Geoffrey, 
I  am  afraid?  "  she  asked  anxiously,  as  she 
gave  me  her  hand.  "He  is  worse?" 
She  feared  that  the  breaking  of  his  en- 
gagement with  Helen  might  have  caused 
a  relapse. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,"  I  said,  smiling  ;  "  he  is 
better ;  he  is  well.  And  he  has  come 
down  to  Quartz  to  see  Alice" — she 
frowned — "  and  to  ask  her  to  marry  him." 

To  my  surprise,  Mrs.  Trevor  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears.  I  was  unprepared  for 
this,  I  don't  know  why,  for  women  may  be 
counted  upon  to  do  just  what  you  don't 
expect  them  to  do.  I  did  n't  know  what 
was  the  matter  with  her,  —  whether  it  was 
an  agreeable  shock  or  otherwise  ;  but  she 
began  smiling  and  talking  through  her 
tears.  "  He  ought  to  do  it,  of  course ;  it  is 
the  only  thing.  An  ill-assorted  marriage 
is  to  be  deplored,  and  I  dread  the  stir  and 
gossip  this  will  make,  especially  so  soon 
after  that  wretched  affair  with  Helen. 
But  I  know  she  will  make  Geoffrey  happy, 
and  he  can  take  her  at  once  away  from 
her  surroundings." 

"  He  '11  not  do  that,"  I  replied.     "  He  is 


Alexia.  165 

not  marrying  her  from  duty,  but  because 
he  is  madly  in  love.  He  does  n't  dream  he 
is  lowering  himself;  and  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  don't  think  he  is.  She  will  exalt  him. 
She  is  a  most  uncommon  girl." 

"  Oh,  she  is  !  "  said  Laura,  quickly.  "  I 
have  had  her  about  me  a  great  deal  lately, 
and  have  been  struck  by  her  remarkable 
sweetness  of  character.  She  has  been  a 
heroine  too.  But  I  wonder  what  on  earth 
Murray  will  say  !  " 

Murray  said  naught  for  a  whole  minute, 
except  with  his  staring  eyes  and  gaping 
mouth.  His  first  utterance  was  classic. 
"  Well,  I  '11  be  shot !  "  he  said.  "  And  so 
he  is  in  love  with  that  girl,  after  all !  Well, 
then  he  must  marry  her,  of  course.  [How 
I  resented  that  tone  in  them  both !]  I 
thought  he  had  forgotten  all  about  her, 
I  did,  truly.  But  what  on  earth  will  the 
haughty  Helen  say  ?  " 

"  She  is  engaged  to  Lorimer,"  I  said. 
"  Geoffrey  heard  it  from  Steve  Gaylord  last 
night  ;  his  mother  had  had  a  letter  from 
Miss  Courtice  herself." 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  By  Jove  !  Laura, 
do  you  hear  that  ?  Well,  between  'em 


1 66  A  lex ia. 

they  '11  keep  the  tongues  at  the  Club  wag- 
ging till  doomsday.  I  Ve  hated  to  go 
there,  actually. 

"And  so  Geoff  is  going  to  marry  our 
little  fisher  maiden  !  "  he  went  on.  "  Well, 
well !  does  n't  it  seem  funny,  Laura,  eh  ? 
But,  say,  though,  Lolly,  we  '11  have  to  move 
out  of  this.  We  never  could  have  old 
Iron  to  dinner.  Fancy  him,  will  you,  hand- 
ing you  in,  Laura,  and  stumbling  all  over 
you,  in  his  calico  jumper  and  his  ear-rings 
—  and  his  hat,  of  course,  he  never  takes  off 
his  hat ;  and  'a-settin'  down  to  supper,  Mrs. 
Tree-vor. "  And  Murray  roared  at  the 
sketch  he  had  drawn.  "  It  makes  a  com- 
plication, does  n't  it  ?  "  he  said,  sobering. 
"  I  don't  think  I  ever  could  regard  old  Iron 
as  a  relation,  somehow."  And  he  went  off 
in  another  fit. 

Laura  could  not  bring  herself  to  regard 
it  as  a  joke  quite  yet.  "  We  Ve  got  to  face 
it,  Murray,"  she  said,  "  and  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  knowing  how  happy  Geoffrey 
will  be,  and  how  lovely  and  dear  Alice 
really  is."  And  then  it  was  that  Murray 
had  spied  Geoffrey,  and  given  him  the 
whoop  of  welcome. 


Alcxia.  167 


XII. 

EOFFREY,  finding  his  audience 
eagerly  sympathetic,  told  it  his 
troubles  on  the  marriage  question.  When 
he  came  to  the  flannel  gown  and  the  tam- 
o'-shanter,  Laura  burst  into  wild  laughter. 
"  O  Geoffrey,  Geoffrey,  you  delicious  sim- 
pleton ! "  she  exclaimed,  nearly  choking. 
"  Now  let  me  manage  this  part  for  you. 
You  do  as  you  're  bid.  You  are  to  bring 
Alice  directly  to  us,  and  let  her  find  her 
way  to  the  family  heart  at  once.  Then  I 
will  send  to  town  for  things  for  her  ["  Oh, 
why  must  brides  have  '  things  '  ?  "  groaned 
Geoffrey],  and  I  will  have  a  sweet  wedding 
dress  made  for  her,  and  you  must  get  out 
some  of  your  mother's  laces, — and  O  Geof- 
frey, how  lovely  she  will  be  in  them  !  —  and 
then,  just  as  soon  as  we  are  all  ready,  you 
shall  be  married.  But  don't  dash  into 
things  like  a  wild  man,  Geoffrey,  —  I  want 


1 68  Alexia. 

Alice  to  be  used  to  us  and  our  ways  before 
she  goes  out  into  the  world." 

"  She  's  not  going  out  into  the  world," 
said  Geoffrey,  hastily.  "  I  would  keep  her 
in  a  glass  case  if  I  could;  and  don't  you 
instil  any  worldly  wisdom  into  her,  either, 
Laura,  mind.  I  don't  want  her  to  know 
a  thing  —  or  a  soul  —  more  than  she 
knows  now,"  he  added.  "  She  's  perfect 
as  she  is." 

Geoffrey  had  been  delighted  at  Laura's 
mention  of  Alice's  place  in  the  family 
heart,  and  it  was  clear  that  Laura  had  at 
last  found  her  way  to  his.  As  soon  as 
dinner  was  over,  he  went  to  fetch  Alice. 
Laura  was  all  impatience  to  see  her,  and 
to  remove  her  from  her  environments,  she 
confessed  to  me  in  a  whisper. 

Old  Iron  was  struck  dumb  and  silly  by 
the  news.  Of  course  he  would  n't  and 
could  n't  and  did  n't  believe  it ;  and  he 
went  through  more  labial  and  lingual  con- 
tortions in  three  minutes  than  he  had 
done  in  the  rest  of  his  life  —  without  being 
able  to  squeeze  out  a  syllable  !  Speech 
for  once  was  denied  him.  About  a  year 
afterward, — just  a  week  before  he  died,  by 


Alexia.  169 

the  by,  —  he  told  me  all  about  it ;  how  he 
felt,  I  mean.  "  You  see,"  he  said,  "  that 
afternoon  I  was  a-comin'  up  the  plank, 
thinkin'  o'  nothin',  as  usual,  and  Alice  she 
come  a-runnin'  to  meet  me.  Says  she, 
'  Gran'father  ! '  an'  says  I,  '  Wot  ? '  an'  says 
she,  '  I  'm  a-goin'  to  be  married  —  to  Mr. 
Geoffery,'  says  she,  as  suddin  as  that.  I 
looked  right  at  her.  '  Be  you  crazy  ? '  says 
I,  for  I  look  upon  them  folks  as  kings  an' 
queens,  Mr.  Farley.  But  Alice  she  says, 
'  It  is  so'  says  she,  an'  after  a  while  I  hat 
to  believe  it !  Ef  the  old  woman  had  n't  'a* 
lost  her  mind  long  before  that,  she  'd  'a' 
done  it  then,  I  guess !  But  she  went  on 
a-scourin'  her  pots  an'  pans  jest  the  same, 
when  I  told  her.  For  years  she  aint  cared 
for  nothin'  but  jest  keepin'  her  kitchen 
clean.'1 

It  was  not  a  connection  of  which  Geof- 
frey could  be  proud,  but  his  tact  was  mar- 
vellous, and  a  prince  of  the  blood  could 
not  have  borne  himself  better. 

But  this  is  going  leagues  ahead  of  my 
story.  After  Geoffrey  had  been  gone  an 
hour,  and  while  we  were  still  discussing 
the  affair  of  the  season,  the  familiar  form 


170  Alexia. 

of  the  green  dory  was  seen  making  for 
"  our "  little  beach  ;  and  Alice,  still 
blushing  and  shy,  and  yet  with  a  sweet 
composure  of  her  own,  came  up  the  grassy 
bank  and  the  steep  rock,  hand  in  hand 
with  Geoffrey.  It  made  an  enchanting 
picture  in  the  moonlight.  Laura  took  her 
in  her  arms,  and  called  her  cousin  ;  Murray 
capered  about  her  like  a  Newfoundland 
dog;  and  I — well,  I  behaved  as  well  as  I 
could  outwardly,  and  inwardly  felt  a  sharp 
pang  of  jealousy,  at  the  thought  that  Geof- 
frey would  never  need  me  any  more. 

Alice  sat  in  our  midst,  the  heroine  of 
the  hour.  She  only  smiled  at  first,  and 
said  yes  and  no ;  but  after  a  time  she  grew 
bolder,  and  talked  sweetly  and  naturally. 
Dear  Alice !  there  never  was  such  an- 
other. How  lovely  she  did  look,  sitting 
there,  with  the  moon  full  upon  her,  giving 
her  a  new  radiance ;  and  with  her  eyes 
upturned  to  it  now  and  then  !  And  how 
handsome  Geoffrey  was,  too,  with  every 
line  smoothed  out  of  his  face  now,  and 
with  perfect  peace  reigning  there  ! 

I  think  it  was  pure  joy  we  all  felt  that 
evening,  and  we  shared  and  shared  alike. 


Alexia.  171 

Laura  seemed  younger  and  fresher  and 
stronger  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  ;  Mur- 
ray was  his  own  hearty  self,  multiplied  by 
two,  to  suit  the  occasion  ;  Geoffrey  and 
Alice  need  no  description  ;  and  I  did  the 
benign,  bless-you-my-children  part,  with,  I 
hope,  a  tolerable  grace.  Geoffrey  and  I 
were  of  the  same  age,  and  had  been  at  col- 
lege together ;  but  his  temperament  had 
made  him  a  son  to  me. 

"  I  speak  to  take  Alice  for  her  first  drive 
round  the  suburbs  of  the  city,"  said  Mur- 
ray. "I  drive  better  horses  than  he  does," 
he  said  to  Alice,  designating  Geoffrey, 
"and  I  am  a  far  better  whip  than  he, 
really." 

Alice  drew  a  long,  rapturous  breath. 
"  Ah-h  !  "  she  sighed,  in  delight.  "  I  have 
never  been  in  a  carriage  in  my  life  ;  you 
don't  begin  to  know  what  a  Hottentot  I 
am,"  laughing.  "I  have  never  worn  a  glove, 
nor  carried  a  parasol.  I  used  to  play  para- 
sol, when  I  was  a  child,  with  a  long  stick, 
which  I  held  up  before  me ;  and  I  used  to 
make  a  proud  face,  as  I  had  seen  ladies 
do."  And  Alice  assumed  a  little  pout,  and 
drew  down  her  eyelids,  glancing  languidly 


172  Alexia. 

from  under  them.  I  don't  know  how  this 
struck  Laura ;  to  us  men  it  was  simply 
ravishing. 

"  You  know  more  French  than  I,  and 
speak  it  better,"  said  Laura ;  "  you  write  a 
charming  hand,  and  you  play  beautifully !  " 
How  Geoffrey  blessed  her  tact.  "  A  fool 
can  carry  a  parasol,  and  it  does  n't  re- 
quire more  than  the  average  intelligence 
to  sit  behind  a  pair  of  horses ;  does  it, 
Geoffrey  ? " 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  to  learn  to  do  every- 
thing," she  said,  nodding  her  head  vigor- 
ously, and  pursing  her  red  lips.  "I  can 
row,  although  I  know  my  stroke  is  too 
short,"  glancing  archly  at  Geoffrey.  "  It 's 
the  fisherman's  stroke.  I  would  n't  have 
dared  try  any  other  here,  but  I  have  prac- 
tised by  myself,  often." 

In  the  midst  of  her  gayety  she  grew 
pale,  and  her  eyes  took  on  a  kind  of  awed 
expression.  Geoffrey  spoke  to  her.  "  I 
am  afraid  of  so  much  happiness,"  she  said, 
in  answer  to  his  questioning.  "  I  shall 
forget  all  about  Heaven." 

I  was  obliged  to  leave  this  enchanted 
group  next  morning.  I  was  to  be  sum- 


Alexia.  173 

moned  in  plenty  of  time  for  the  wedding, 
which  was  to  be  in  a  week  or  two. 

The  day  came  ;  or,  rather,  the  night  be- 
fore came  first,  and  I  went  down  to  spend 
it,  for  the  wedding  was  to  be  early  in  the 
morning. 

Alice  had  been  with  the  Sisters  for  a  day 
or  two  ;  for,  self-contained  as  they  were, 
they  were  desolate  at  losing  her.  She  en- 
deared every  one  to  her  ;  even  the  Trevors' 
servants,  who  probably  found  the  exalta- 
tion of  old  Iron's  grandchild  a  hard  pill  to 
bolt,  were  won  completely  by  her  sweet 
graciousness,  and  scrambled  to  wait  upon 
her. 

Laura  recounted  to  me  many  anecdotes 
of  Alice's  management,  in  her  extremely 
difficult  position,  with  regard  to  the  towns- 
people. "  She  talks  freely  to  them  about 
her  marriage,"  said  Laura,  "  and  they  know 
that  instead  of  losing  an  obscure  friend, 
they  are  gaining  an  influential  one." 

"  Where  are  they  going  to  live  ? "  I 
aske.l. 

"  They  are  to  borrow  our  boat  first,  for 
a  cruise,  and  then  Geoffrey  has  taken  a 
house  over  on  the  Head,  which  has  just 


1 74  Alexia. 

been  vacated.  He  means  to  buy  it  later, 
he  says.  I  hope  not,  for  I  anticipate  a 
grand  social  success  —  anywhere  else  — 
for  Alice." 

Then  they  were  not  to  leave  the  old  sur- 
roundings !  There  was  not  one  ray  of 
false  pride  about  either  of  them. 

But  the  wedding !  I  need  the  pen  of  a 
painter  in  words  —  not  this  bare  reed  —  with 
which  to  depict  that.  It  was  a  mingling 
of  sunshine  and  solemnity  such  as  is  seldom 
seen.  There  were  wax-lights  and  flowers 
on  the  altar,  and  the  sunlight  danced  upon 
it.  As  a  great  surprise  to  Alice,  the 
Sisters  had  enlisted  a  choir  from  the  city  ; 
and  Alice  was  so  overcome  that  she  could 
hardly  go  in  to  be  married,  she  said.  The 
little  boys,  in  their  snowy  clothes,  whatever 
the  name  of  them  is,  came  in,  in  twos, 
with  a  tall  golden  cross  leading  them,  and 
singing  a  marriage  hymn:  "  The  voice  that 
breathed  o'er  Eden."  Then  Geoffrey  and 
I  came  in,  and  waited  for  the  bride,  whom 
Geoffrey  had  not  seen  for  two  whole  days  ! 
She  was  escorted  by  Murray,  it  being 
voted  impossible  to  pound  a  scrap  of  ex- 
ecutive ability  into  the  old  grandfather, 


Alcxia.  175 

who  was  there,  by  the  by,  in  a  very  nice 
suit  of  black,  and  who  kept  himself  well 
in  the  background,  being  ashamed  of  his 
clothes,  I  suppose. 

Laura  afterward  described  Alice's  dress 
to  me  as  a  shimmering  silk  muslin.  The 
Sisters  had  embroidered  it  exquisitely,  she 
said.  But  whatever  the  dress  may  have 
been,  or  was,  Alice  was  glorious  in  it. 
She  wore  an  uplifted,  seraphic  look  ;  and 
her  face,  which  was  pale,  had  taken  on  an 
unearthly  beauty  which  none  of  us  will 
ever  forget.  She  gave  no  sign  of  recogni- 
tion to  Geoffrey,  who  came  to  meet  her 
with  love  and  rapture  in  his  face,  except 
to  drop  her  eyes  ;  and  it  was  very  evi- 
dent to  us  all  that  she  was  entering  her 
new  estate  with  a  complete  sense  of  its 
responsibilities. 

Even  after  the  ceremony,  when  the 
priest  shook  hands  with  her,  she  was  per- 
fectly grave ;  and  I  knew  she  felt  herself  in 
a  more  awful  Presence  than  ours,  from  the 
fact  that  she  did  not  blush  or  smile.  She 
kept  the  same  far-off,  exalted  look  all  the 
time. 

Geoffrey  took  her  hand  in  his  —  he  did 


176  Alexia. 

not  give  her  his  arm — and  led  her  from 
the  chancel ;  and  while  the  choir  sang,  the 
two  went  out  at  the  side-door  quietly,  and 
into  the  Sisters'  house,  where  we  hastened 
after  them.  Then  Alice  was  herself  again, 
and  received  our  pretty  speeches,  and  her 
husband's  overwhelming  attentions,  with 
modesty  and  roses. 

But  I  saw  her  for  weeks  —  I  often  see 
her  now  —  standing  or  kneeling  at  the 
altar,  with  that  glorified  look  she  must 
have  caught  from  an  angel. 

A  fortnight  or  so  after  this,  Geoffrey 
came  springing  up  my  office-stairs.  There 
was  no  need  of  asking  how  he  was  ;  bliss 
was  inscribed  all  over  him.  "  Come  and 
be  perpetual  guest,"  he  cried,  "we  both 
want  you,  and  must  have  you.  [It  was 
his  kindness ;  he  knew  how  forlorn  I 
was  without  him  !]  Don't  think  I  can  get 
on  without  you  because  I  am  all  right, 
old  boy,  any  more  than  I  could  when  I 
was  all  wrong.  And  by  the  by,"  he 
added,  "I  am  coming  to  'study  in  real 
earnest  now  ;  I  have  promised  Alexia  to 
go  to  work." 


Alexia.  177 

"  Get  out  of  my  office  !  "  I  shouted.  "  I 
liked  you  when  you  were  cross  and  sulky 
and  unmanageable  ;  now  you  have  no  at- 
traction for  me.  If  there  is  a  disgusting 
spectacle  on  this  earth,  it  is  that  of  a 
supremely  happy  man  !  " 


THE   END. 


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London,  says:  "  He  enjoys  the  greatest  celebrity  among  living 
Swedish  writers;  "  and  R.  H.  Stoddard  has  styled  them  "the 
most  important  and  certainly  the  most  readable  series  of  foreign 
fiction  that  has  been  translated  into  English  for  many  years." 
They  should  stand  on  the  shelves  of  every  library,  public  and 
private,  beside  the  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

The  Graphic,  New  York,  says  : 

"  Topelius  is  evidently  a  great  romancer, —  a  great  romancer  in 
the  manner  of  \V.\Iter  Scott.  At  moments  in  his  writing  there  is 
positive  inspiration,  a  truth  and  vivid  reality  that  are  startling." 

The  Sun,  Philadelphia,  says  : 

"  We  would  much  prefer  teaching  a  youth  Swedish  history 
from  the  novels  of  Topelius  than  from  any  book  of  strict  histori- 
cal narrative." 

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T^AMILIAR   TALKS    ON    ENGLISH 

A  LITERATURE.  A  Manual  embracing  the  Great 
Epochs  of  English  Literature,  from  the  English  conquest 
of  Britain,  449,  to  the  death  of  Walter  Scott,  1832.  By 
ABBY  SAGE  RICHARDSON.  Fourth  edition,  revised. 
Price  #1.50. 

The  Boston  Transcript  says : 

"The  work  shows  thorough  study  and  excellent  judgment, 
and  we  can  warmly  recommend  it  to  schools  and  private  classes 
for  reading  as  an  admirable  text-book." 

The  New  York  Evening  Mail  says: 
"  What  the  author  proposed  to  do  was  to  convey  to  her  read- 
ers a  clear  idea  of  the  variety,  extent,  and  richness  of  English 
literature.  .  .  .  She  has  done  just  what  she  intended  to  do,  and 
done  it  well." 

The  New  York  Nation  says : 

"  It  is  refreshing  to  find  a  book  designed  for  young  readers 
which  seeks  to  give  only  what  will  accomplish  the  real  aim  of 
the  study ;  namely,  to  excite  an  interest  in  English  literature, 
cultivate  a  taste  for  what  is  best  in  it,  and  thus  lay  a  foundation 
on  which  they  can  build  after  reading." 

Prof.  Moses  Coit  Tyler  says : 

"  I  have  had  real  satisfaction  in  looking  over  the  book.  There 
are  some  opinions  with  which  I  do  not  agree ;  but  the  main  thing 
about  the  book  is  a  good  thing ;  namely,  its  hearty,  wholesome 
love  of  English  literature,  and  the  honest,  unpretending,  but 
genial  and  conversational,  manner  in  which  that  love  is  uttered. 
It  is  a  charming  book  to  read,  and  it  will  breed  in  its  readers  the 
appetite  to  read  English  literature  for  themselves." 

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OF     ANCIENT     GREECE. 

•*-  By  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox,  Bart.,  M.A.,  Trinity 
College,  Oxford. 

X2mo,  cloth,  price,  $1.25. 

"  Written  apparently  for  young  readers,  it  yet  possesses  a 
charm  of  manner  which  will  recommend  it  to  all." —  The  Ex- 
aminer, London. 

"  It  is  only  when  we  take  up  such  a  book  as  this  that  we  real- 
ize how  rich  in  interest  is  the  mythology  of  Greece."  —  Inquirer, 
Philadelphia. 

"Admirable  in  style,  and  level  with  a  child's  comprehension. 
These  versions  might  well  find  a  place  in  every  family."  —  Tht 
Nation,  New  York. 

"  The  author  invests  these  stories  with  a  charm  of  narrative 
entirely  peculiar.  The  book  is  a  rich  one  in  every  way."  — 
Standard,  Chicago. 

"In  Mr.  Cox  will  be  found  yet  another  name  to  be  enrolled 
among  those  English  writers  who  have  vindicated  for  this  coun- 
try an  honorable  rank  in  the  investigation  of  Greek  history."  — 
Edinburgh  Review. 

"It  is  doubtful  if  these  tales  —  antedating  history  in  their 
origin,  and  yet  fresh  with  all  the  charms  of  youth  to  all  who 
read  them  for  the  first  time  —  were  ever  before  presented  in  so 
chaste  and  popular  form."  —  Golden  Rule,  Boston. 

"  The  grace  with  which  these  old  tales  of  the  mythology  are 
re-told  makes  them  as  enchanting  to  the  young  as  familiar  fairy 
tales  or  the  'Arabian  Nights.'  .  .  .  We  do  not  know  of  a  Christ- 
mas book  which  promises  more  lasting  pleasures."  — Publisher? 
Weekly. 

"  Its  exterior  fits  it  to  adorn  the  drawing-room  table,  while  itt 
contents  are  adapted  to  the  entertainment  of  the  most  cultivated 
intelligence.  •  .  .  The  book  is  a  scholarly  production,  and  a 
welcome  addition  to  a  department  of  literature  that  is  thus  far 
quite  too  scantily  furnished." —  Tribune,  Chicago. 

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SHORT     HISTORY    OF     FRANCE, 
FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.    By  Miss  E.  S.  KIRK- 
LAND,  author  of   "Six  Little  Cooks,"   "Dora's  House, 
keeping,"  &c. 

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"  A  very  ably  written  sketch  of  French  history,  from  the  ear- 
liest times  to  the  foundation  of  the  existing  Republic."  —  C/w. 
cinnati  Gazette. 

"  The  narrative  is  not  dry  on  a  single  page,  and  the  little  his- 
tory may  be  commended  as  the  best  of  its  kind  that  has  yet 
appeared."  —  Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 

"A  book  both  instructive  and  entertaining.  It  is  not  a  dry 
compendium  of  dates  and  facts,  but  a  charmingly  written  his- 
tory." —  Christian  Union,  New  York. 

"  After  a  careful  examination  of  its  contents,  we  are  able  to 
conscientiously  give  it  our  heartiest  commendation.  We  know  no 
elementary  history  of  France  that  can  at  all  be  compared  with 
it. "  —  L iving  Church. 

"  A  spirited  and  entertaining  sketch  of  the  French  people  and 
nation,  —  one  that  will  seize  and  hold  the  attention  of  all  bright 
boys  and  girls  who  have  a  chance  to  read  it."  —  Sunday  After- 
noon, Springfield  (ATass.). 

"  We  find  its  descriptions  universally  good,  that  it  is  admirably 
simple  and  direct  in  style,  without  waste  of  words  or  timidity  of 
opinion.  The  book  represents  a  great  deal  of  patient  labor  and 
conscientious  study." —  Courant,  Hartford  (Conn.). 

"  Miss  Kirkland  has  composed  her  '  Short  History  of  France ' 
in  the  way  in  w'lich  a  history  for  young  people  ought  to  be  writ- 
ten ;  that  is,  she  has  aimed  to  present  a  consecutive  and  agreea- 
ble story,  from  which  the  reader  can  not  only  learn  the  names  of 
kings  and  the  succession  of  events,  but  can  also  receive  a  vivid 
and  permanent  impression  as  to  the  characters,  modes  of  life, 
and  the  spirit  of  different  periods." —  The  Nation,  New  York. 

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TALES  FROM  FOREIGN  TONGUES. 

— • — 

MEMORIES.    A  Story  of  German  Love.     By 

MAX  MULLER. 
GRAZIELLA.    A    Story  of  Italian  Love.     By 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE. 
MADELEINE.     A  Story  of  French  Love.    By 

JULES  SANDEAU. 
MARIE.     A    Story    of    Russian    Love.      By 

ALEXANDER  PUSHKIN. 

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The  series  of  four  volumes  forms,  perhaps,  the  choicest 
addition  to  the  literature  of  the  English  language  that  has 
been  made  in  recent  years. 

Of  "  Memories,"  the  London  Academy  says :  "  It  is  a  prose 
poem.  ...  Its  beauty  and  pathos  show  us  a  fresh  phase  of  a 
many-sided  mind,  to  which  we  already  owe  large  debts  of 
gratitude." 

Of  "  Graziella,"  the  Boston  Past  says:  "  It  is  full  of  beauti- 
ful sentiment,  unique  and  graceful  in  style,  of  course,  as  were 
all  the  writings  of  this  distinguished  French  author." 

Of  "  Madeleine,"  the  New  York  Evening  Mail  says :  "  It  is 
one  of  the  most  exquisite  lovj  tales  that  ever  was  written, 
abounding  in  genuine  pathos  and  sparkling  v.  it.  and  so  pure  in 
its  sentiment  that  it  may  be  read  by  a  child." 

Of  "  Marie,"  the  Cincinnati  Gazette  says:  "  It  is  one  of  the 
purest,  sweetest  little  narratives  that  we  have  read  for  a  long 
time.  It  is  a  little  classic,  and  a  Russian  classic,  too." 

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BOOK-LOVER.     A  Guide  to  the 

-*•      Best    Reading.      By  JAMES    BALDWIN,    Ph.  D. 
Sixth  edition,  i6mo,    cloth,   gilt  top,  201  pages.    Price, 

Ji.oo. 

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Of  this  book,  on  the  best  in  English  Literature,  which  has 
already  been  declared  of  the  highest  value  by  the  testimony  of 
the  best  critics  in  this  country,  an  edition  of  one  thousand  copies 
has  just  been  ordered  for  London,  the  home  of  English  Liter- 
ature, —  a  compliment  of  which  its  scholarly  western  author  may 
justly  be  proud. 

We  know  of  no  work  of  the  kind  which  gives  so  much  useful 
information  in  so  small  a  space. — Evening  Telegram,  New 
York. 

Sound  in  theory  and  in  a  practical  point  of  view.  The  courses 
of  reading  laid  down  are  made  of  good  books,  and  in  general,  of 
the  best.  —  Independent,  New  York. 

Mr.  Baldwin  has  written  in  this  monograph  a  delightful  eulo- 
gium  of  books  and  their  manifold  influence,  and  has  gained 
therein  two  classes  of  readers,  —  the  scholarly  class,  to  which  he 
belongs,  and  the  receptive  class,  which  he  has  benefited.  — 
Evening  Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

If  a  man  needs  that  the  love  of  books  be  cultivated  within  him, 
such  a  gem  of  a  book  as  Dr.  Baldwin's  ought  to  do  the  work. 
Perfect  and  inviting  in  all  that  a  book  ought  outwardly  to  be.  i.s 
contents  are  such  as  to  instruct  the  mind  at  the  same  time  that 
they  answer  the  taste,  and  the  reader  who  goes  carefully  through 
its  two  hundred  pages  ought  not  only  to  love  books  in  general 
better  than  he  ever  did  before,  but  to  love  them  more  wisely, 
more  intelligently,  more  discriminatingly,  and  with  more  profit 
to  his  own  soul.  — Literary  World,  Boston. 


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VWE    TWO    ALONE    IN     EUROPE. 

*  •  By  MARY  L.  XINUE.  Illustrated  from  Original 
Designs. 

i:mo,  348  pages,  price,  $1.50. 

The  foreign  travels  which  gave  rise  to  this  volume  were  of  a 
novel  and  perhaps  unprecedented  kind.  Two  young  American 
girls  started  for  "  the  grand  tour  "  with  the  father  of  one  of  them, 
and  he  being  compelled  to  return  home  from  London  they  were 
courageous  enough  to  continue  their  journeyings  alone.  They 
spent  two  years  in  travel,  — going  as  far  north  as  the  North  Cape 
and  south  to  the  Nile,  and  including  in  their  itinerary  St.  Peters- 
burg and  Moscow.  Miss  Ninde's  narrative  is  written  in  a  fresh 
and  sprightly  but  unsensntional  style,  which,  with  the  unusual  ex- 
periences portrayed,  renders  the  work  quite  unlike  the  ordinary 
books  of  travel. 

It  is  a  narrative  told  so  naturally  and  so  vividly  that  the  two 
gentle  travellers  do  not  seem  to  be  "  alone,"  but  to  have  taken  at 
least  the  reader  along  with  them.  ...  It  is  filled  with  so  many 
interesting  glimpses  of  sights  and  scenes  in  many  lands  as  to  ren- 
der it  thoroughly  entertaining.  —  The  Congregationaiist,  Boston. 

As  the  work  of  a  bright  American  girl,  the  book  is  sure  to  com- 
mand wide  attention.  The  volume  is  handsomely  bound  and 
copiously  illustrated  with  views  drawn,  if  we  mistake  not,  by  the 
author's  own  fair  hands,  so-  well  do  they  accord  with  the  viva- 
cious spirit  of  her  narrative.  —  Times,  Troy,  New  York. 

In  these  days  when  letters  and  books  about  travels  in  Europe 
have  become  generally  monotonous,  to  say  the  least,  it  is  absolute- 
ly refreshing  to  get  hold  of  a  bright,  original  book  like  "  We  Two 
alone  in  Europe."  .  .  .  The  book  is  especially  interesting  for 
its  fresh,  bright  observations  on  manners,  customs,  and  objects 
of  interest  as  viewed  through  these  young  girs'  eyes,  and  the 
charming  spice  of  adventure  running  through  it.  —  Home  Jour- 
nal,  Boston. 

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HUMBLER   POETS.     A  Collec- 

tion  of  Newspaper  and  Periodical  Verse.  1870  to 
1885.  By  SLASON  THOMPSON.  Crown  Svo,  459  pages, 
cloth,  gilt  top.  Price,  §2.00. 

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The  publishers  have  done  well  in  issuing  this  volume  in  a 
style  of  literary  and  artistic  excellence,  such  as  is  given  to  the 
works  of  the  poets  of  name  and  fame,  because  the  contents  richly 
entitle  it  to  such  distinction.  —  Home  Journal,  Boston. 

The  high  poetic  character  of  these  poems,  as  a  whole,  is  sur- 
prising. As  a  unit,  the  collection  makes  an  impression  which 
even  a  genius  of  the  highest  order  would  not  be  adequate  to  pro- 
duce. .  .  Measured  by  poetic  richness,  variety,  and  merit  of 
the  selections  contained,  the  collection  is  a  rarely  good  one 
flavored  with  the  freshness  and  aroma  of  the  present  time.  — 
Independent,  New  York. 

Mr.  Thompson  winnowed  out  the  chaff  from  the  heap,  and 
has  given  us  the  golden  grain  in  this  volume.  Many  old  news- 
paper favorites  will  be  recognized  in  this  collection,  —  many  of 
those  song-waifs  which  have  been  drifting  up  and  down  the 
newspaper  world  for  years,  and  which  nobody  owns  but  every- 
body loves  \Ve  are  glad  for  ourselves  that  some  one  has  been 
kind  and  tender-hearted  enough  to  take  in  these  fugitive  chil- 
dren of  the  Muses  and  give  them  a  safe  and  permanent  home. 
The  selection  has  been  made  with  rare  taste  and  discrimination, 
and  the  result  is  a  delightful  volume.  —  Observer,  New  York. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  f  rice,  by 

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T   IFE    OF     ABRAHAM     LINCOLN, 

•*— '    By  the  Hon.  ISAAC    N.   ARNOLD.    With  Steel 
Portrait.    8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  471  pages.     Price,  52.50. 

In  half  calf,  $4.75  ;   half  morocco,  $5.00. 


It  is  decidedly  the  best  and  most  complete  Life  of  Lincoln 
that  has  yet  appeared.  —  Contemporary  Review,  London. 

Mr.  Arnold  succeeded  to  a  singular  extent  in  assuming  the 
broad  view  and  judicious  voice  of  posterity  and  exhibiting  the 
greatest  figure  of  our  time  in  its  true  perspective.  —  Tkt  Trib- 
nne,  New  York. 

It  is  the  only  Life  of  Lincoln  thus  far  published  that  is  likely 
to  live, —  the  only  one  that  has  any  serious  pretensions  to  depict 
him  with  adequate  veracity,  completeness,  and  dignity. —  Tlu 
Sun,  New  York. 

The  author  knew  Mr.  Lincoln  long  and  intimately,  and  no  one 
was  better  fitted  for  the  task  of  preparing  his  biography.  He 
has  written  with  tenderness  and  fidelity,  with  keen  discrimina- 
tion, and  with  graphic  powers  of  description  and  analysis.  —  Tkt 
Interior,  Chicago. 

Mr.  Arnold's  "  Life  of  President  Lincoln  "  is  excellent  in 
almost  every  respect.  .  .  .  The  author  has  painted  a  graphic  and 
life-like  portrait  of  the  remarkable  man  who  was  called  to  decide 
on  the  destinies  of  his  country  at  the  crisis  of  its  fate.  —  Tkt 
Times,  London 

The  book  is  particularly  rich  in  incidents  connected  with  the 
early  career  of  Mr.  Lincoln  ;  and  it  is  without  exception  the 
most  satisfactory  record  of  his  life  that  has  yet  been  written. 
Readers  will  also  find  that  in  its  entirety  it  is  a  work  of  absorb- 
ing and  enduring  interest  that  will  enchain  the  attention  more 
effectually  than  any  novel.  —  Magatine  of  A  merit: an  History, 
Nttu  York. 

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000  104  452     8 


